Conjecture, Expectation and Surmise
by LilinasWrites
Summary: But how did everyone react to Kurt & Blaine being together? This is a follow-up to Expectation Fails. It takes place their first week of being "out," picking up immediately after they leave Principal Figgins' office in chapter 13 of EF. It's a little different in focus and tone, and very uneven, but I wanted to play with new characters and ideas so I did!
1. Monday

Finn Hudson loved gym class. He loved the smell in the gym, the sound of feet pounding on the fancy floor, the echoing thwack as the backdrop shuddered under a heavy hit, the feel of pull-up bars in his hands, the way his body responded easily to anything he asked it to do. But most of all he loved being in the zone. Completely focused on the task at hand, hearing the instructions called out by teammates or coaches, instinctively making whatever moves were required for the game he was playing. Being in the zone was the closest outside-world equivalent to what Rachel made him feel when they were alone together. Which made perfect sense, really, because that was a zone too, focusing on her instructions, letting his instincts take over, tuning out all distractions. Gym was his daily dose of almost-submission and as things got tougher for him with the pressures of school and figuring out what the hell he was going to do with his life, he relied more and more on those fifty daily minutes of peace.

Which was why it irritated him more than a little when Karofsky stumbled in very late that particular Monday morning, still in street clothes, and collapsed on the bleachers, causing Coach Lebrun to halt the basketball game with two sharp blows of his whistle in order to see what was up. Finn grabbed a spare ball from the sidelines and dribbled randomly, trying to keep his zone from fading out too much, but then he heard Kurt's name and dropped the ball with a sigh. He'd promised Burt that he would watch out for Kurt and Karofsky talking about him could only be bad news.

"What's up with Kurt?" he asked as he shuffled over to the bleachers. Karofsky looked up at him and Finn couldn't figure out whether he looked guilty or upset. Or maybe both. "Dude, did you do something to him?"

"No," Karofsky protested, but his voice was quiet and almost resigned. "He's fine. He's in the office with that teacher. Anderson."

"Why is he in the office?"

"Why don't you let me deal with this Hudson," Coach Lebrun said.

Finn ignored him. Coach was a dom, like most gym teachers, but his orders had nothing on orders from Burt Hummel. "Dude, why is he in the office?"

"I saw them together," Karofsky was looking at him like there was something important he should understand and Finn really hated that. People should just say what they meant, but they never seemed to, and the more important whatever they had to say was, the less likely they seemed to be to spit it out. "I saw them, Finn, like me and Dr. Fletcher. But then Kurt told me to get out and . . . I did it. I just left. Why did I do that?"

But Finn wasn't listening to Karofsky anymore. He was already halfway across the gym, ignoring Coach's voice ordering him back. Karofsky involved in something that resulted in Kurt in the principal's office with a teacher had to mean big trouble for someone. He was at a full run by the time he hit the double doors, slamming one open and taking off toward the main corridors.

His mind and body were both racing, not really paying any attention to what they were doing by the time he rounded the corner to the corridor that held all the Junior class lockers and collided headlong with the exact two people he was looking for, sending them both crashing to the floor and sliding like bowling pins in opposite directions.

"What the hell, Finn?!" Kurt exclaimed as he coasted to a stop and pushed himself up from the floor, rubbing one elbow and glaring daggers at his brother.

Finn rushed over to offer a hand up. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry! I was coming to rescue you."

"This would be your idea of a rescue." Kurt ignored Finn's hand and half-crawled, half scooted over to where Mr. Anderson was sitting on the floor with his hands sort of grabbing at his knees. He seemed to be breathing pretty hard for someone who'd only been knocked down. Kurt, to Finn's surprise, took one of Mr. Anderson's hands gently in his own and gave the teacher a little smile. "My brother," he said softly.

"I gathered," Mr. Anderson said giving Kurt his own shaky smile in return. Finn watched, just a little bewildered, as Kurt stood up and pulled Mr. Anderson up with him. Something was going on, for sure, there was something about the way the teacher was looking at his brother, Finn could see that much, and he was sure he'd get it in a second but Kurt didn't really give him time to figure it out.

"What exactly did you think you were rescuing me from?" Kurt asked, kind of over his shoulder because he was still standing with his back to Finn, watching Mr. Anderson instead, still gripping his hand.

"I was in gym and Karofsky came in looking like he was about to cry, which is weird enough but then he said something about you and Mr. Anderson in the office and I just . . . I didn't know . . ." He trailed off as it all started to come together, finally, in his head. Kurt. Mr. Anderson. Holding hands. Kurt holding Mr. Anderson's right hand which was securely and obviously wrapped in a black, claimed cuff. And Rachel had specifically told him the teacher wasn't claimed.

Kurt had turned around by now, and he watched kind of nervously as Finn figured it out.

"Wait," Finn finally said, "he's your soulmate?"

Kurt's eyes went wide and he nodded, looking almost shocked that Finn had gotten it right, which made no sense because it was obvious, really, with the cuff and the hand-holding. Finn was sure anyone else would have figured it out right away.

"Dude, that's awesome! You found your soulmate!" He pulled Kurt into a tight hug, and Kurt returned it one-armed, as the other hand was still attached to his history teacher.

Finn was never quite sure what reaction he'd get from hugging Kurt. Sometimes it seemed to make him happy; sometimes he looked touched; sometimes Kurt shoved him away in either mock or real irritation. But Finn never bothered to over think things so he usually just hugged when he was feeling it and let the chips fall where they may. This time it must have been the right thing to do because when he pulled back Kurt was grinning and his eyes were sparkling with genuine happiness.

"So . . . this is Blaine," Kurt said, pulling the teacher forward a bit from where he stood behind Kurt, looking like he was trying to hide. "Or, I guess Mr. Anderson when we're at school."

And, okay, that was weird. Finn liked to keep things simple and usually it worked for him. He accepted people for who they were, or who they presented themselves as, and didn't think much further than that. But what was he supposed to do with this? Rachel's history teacher was Kurt's boyfriend? It was one thing to be happy that Kurt had found his soulmate, which Finn totally was because Kurt, of all people, wasn't the type to fool around casually or let himself fall for someone who wasn't his destined mate, like Finn had. If Kurt hadn't met his soulmate young he would have been miserable for a long time, Finn knew, and he was really, truly glad that wasn't going to happen. But for his brother's soulmate to be a teacher and, even worse, a grown up? How was he supposed to deal with that? This was the person who Kurt would be with forever, and probably marry some day, if gay marriage was legal in Ohio which Finn could never quite remember because the rules seemed to change every week, but legal or not he'd probably be Finn's brother-in-law some day and he was supposed to call him Mr. Anderson at school and what – Blaine? – at home and try to forget, if he ever saw in him the hallways or had him supervise a study hall, that he submitted to Kurt and did the same things for his brother that Finn did for Rachel? And really, it was even worse than him and Rachel because they were both dudes and probably doing all kinds of things that Rachel wouldn't even consider yet. And before that train of thought could get any further out of the station Finn thrust out his hand for Mr. Anderson to shake.

"Nice to meet you," he said, sounding completely stupid, he knew, because what kid talked like that? Mr. Anderson took his hand for the briefest of moments (but not too brief for Finn to be able to feel it shaking) and then pulled back. Duty done, Finn turned back to Kurt. It was so much easier to deal with the idea of Kurt as someone's dom than the idea of Mr. Anderson as his brother's sub. "So what was up with you in the office? Karofsky was pretty freaked out."

"David saw Blaine and me together and he thought Blaine was messing with me the way Dr. Fletcher messed with him."

"But that's crazy. You're a dom."

"Well I'm glad somebody noticed," Kurt said sharply, but he smiled at Finn like he'd just said something wonderful.

"I noticed," Mr. Anderson said in a quiet voice, looking up at Kurt in a way that made Finn even more uncomfortable. Kurt, though, turned his high-wattage smile from Finn back to Mr. Anderson, and they almost seemed to forget he was there as they gazed in each other's eyes.

This was just Finn's luck. He'd finally managed to somehow stumble into saying all the right things, making Kurt smile the way he almost never did, certainly never at Finn, and of course it was all wrapped up in Mr. Anderson looking at his brother in a way that made him feel like Burt would want him to hit the guy. "So you're okay, right?" Finn asked. He was getting more and more anxious to just get back to the gym and work his way back into the basketball zone, where things were simple.

"Perfect," Kurt said, still looking at Mr. Anderson. "No rescuing required. But thank you for the thought." He looked at Finn then, and Finn could tell that he really meant it.

Finn began to back up in the direction he'd come from. "Okay then, well, congratulations. I guess I'll see you later. Nice to meet you . . ." Oh God. Saying "Mr. Anderson" seemed ridiculous when it was Kurt's soulmate he was talking to, but saying "Blaine" felt all kinds of wrong too. Great. He really, truly was happy for Kurt but man he was dreading Friday night dinners with Mr. Anderson in attendance. He settled for just nodding in the teacher's direction.

Mr. Anderson seemed to understand. He nodded back and said "You too, Finn," without a hint of irritation or embarrassment. Finn turned and forced himself to walk until he turned the first corner and then he ran as fast as he could back to the safety of the gym.

* * *

><p>Kurt stayed still until Finn turned the corner then he moved swiftly to push Blaine up against the bank of lockers on the wall, leaning into him with his whole body until he could feel Blaine's racing heart against his own chest. Blaine made a tiny sound in the back of his throat; his eyes closed and Kurt could feel him begin to relax back into the metal behind him so he pressed even harder, stretching himself up onto his tiptoes to accentuate their height difference, and gradually Blaine's heartbeat began to slow down to something resembling normal and the gentle tremble in his body stopped.<p>

Blaine took a couple of deep, slow breaths then opened his eyes. "It's okay. I'm okay."

Kurt backed off a bit, but kept their bodies touching. "Are you sure? We can do this as long as you need it."

"Didn't Figgins say no displays of dominance?"

"I'm pretty sure he said no unnecessary displays. At least that's how I'm choosing to remember it. But helping my sub when he's freaking out is necessary."

Blaine smiled up at Kurt. "Thank you. I really am okay. I just was all geared up for the classroom and I didn't expect Finn."

"No one ever does," Kurt sighed, shaking his head. "That went better than I thought it would, but I don't think he quite knows what to make of you yet."

"But he's happy for you. That's all that really matters."

Kurt reached to take Blaine's hand in his again. "That's the thing about Finn. Just when you've decided you're going to have to murder him in his sleep, he does something perfect. It's actually kind of annoying." He started to walk, pulling Blaine along behind him. "So I think maybe we've had enough outing for one day. How about we not say anything in class today?"

Blaine stopped walking and pulled Kurt to a halt as well. "Are you really okay with that?"

"Well, we're not keeping it a secret. I mean, between Finn and Principal Figgins everyone will know by the end of the day anyhow. Might as well just let them finish their tests in peace." He could see the last of the tension leave Blaine's shoulders at this. "I'm okay with baby steps."

"Okay. No big announcement." Blaine's smile widened and seemed more genuine than it had since they'd been run into by Finn. By the time they reached the classroom door he was leading the way, as anyone would expect a teacher to do.

There was only the slightest notice of their entrance. A few people looked up but most were too busy with their tests to bother. Puckerman was one who did, though, watching them with a frown and clearly trying to piece together what was going on. Kurt tried to look normal and unconcerned as he made his way to his desk and Blaine went to murmur a thank you to Mr. Schuester.

Rachel looked up with a fleeting smile as he seated himself and then focused her attention back on her paper. He didn't look in Puck's direction but he could practically smell the sizzle as his brain worked. Well, let him wonder. They'd all know soon enough and they could accept it or not.

Kurt wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now. He didn't have enough time to finish the test and he didn't need to, really, because starting tomorrow he wasn't even in this class any more. He was staring at the paper wondering if it would be too much of a risk to write something sexy and stick it in the middle of the pile for Blaine to stumble on while he was correcting them, when something hit him hard on the arm. A neon yellow, cone-shaped eraser rebounded onto the floor.

He looked up to see Puck brandishing an eraser-less pencil and looking at Kurt like he suspected something that he couldn't quite believe. Puck always said he had a sixth sense when people were having sex and it seemed to be working because Kurt could see comprehension dawning on his face.

"Dude!" Puck mouthed soundlessly, rolling his eyes toward Blaine, and Kurt couldn't resist smiling just a little and lifting one shoulder in a coy kind of shrug. Puck's mouth fell open and his eyes went comically wide; he was trying to look scandalized, but under the goofy expression he actually looked . . . impressed?

"Noah, Kurt, keep your eyes on your papers, please." Blaine's voice barely shook at all, which made Kurt smile even more as he turned back to his paper and began to write things that had absolutely nothing to do with the test questions. He was trying to decide exactly how far he could take his game when he noticed a tiny movement out of the corner of his eye and looked over to see Puck's hand, fingers curled into a fist, making its way surreptitiously across Jenn's empty seat. It stopped halfway there and waited, and Kurt turned his eyes back to his paper and swallowed a giggle as he stretched out his arm and bumped his own fist gently against Puck's.

Rachel, Finn, and now Puck. Three down. The entire population of McKinley to go.


	2. Tuesday

"I'm sorry. It's just . . . not right. He's sixteen!"

Emma looked up from the pamphlets she was carefully straightening in their little holders just long enough to show Will her disapproval, then went back to running her fingers over the perfectly-aligned paper edges. She tried, as she always did, to keep her voice calm and non-judgmental. "I really thought that you would be the first one to understand their situation."

"Why? Because we're in a crazy, unconventional, some people might say screwed up situation too?"

"No," she took a deep breath. Calm. "Because you've had Kurt in Glee for two years now. You know how much he's been through. "

Will leaned forward in his chair, planting his clasped hands on her desk and inadvertently bumping one of the pamphlet holders out of alignment. "And a relationship with a teacher who's probably ten years older than him is the solution?"

"Being with his soulmate is the solution." She moved the holder back in its place and ran her fingers over the contents again. She knew what was coming next, it was their ongoing argument, and she always dreaded it. But the feel of the papers against her fingers helped. Very few things made her happier than being able to create her tiny pieces of perfection in the world.

"Aren't you the one who said that being with your soulmate wasn't always the solution?"

She sighed then, even though she'd known it was coming, and forced herself to stop fiddling with the pamphlets and fold her hands carefully on the desk in front of her. "Okay," she said in the dom voice that she practiced at home regularly, "is this about Kurt and Blaine or about us?"

Because he was Will, he tried to look like he had no idea what she was talking about. "I didn't say . . ."

"They're not us, Will."

"I know they're not us. He's sixteen! He still lives at home, for God's sake. And his soulmate is his history teacher."

"And yet somehow he managed to claim Blaine when I haven't claimed you yet," Emma finished the sentence for him.

Will's head dropped onto his folded hands and Emma reached across the desk to touch his arm, grateful to see him trying so hard to not outright accuse her. "We'll get there, Will. But we still have so many things to work out."

He lifted his head just enough to look in her eyes. "They're gay, they're ten years apart in age, Blaine's his teacher, but _we_ have more to work out than they do."

"Hey," she squeezed his arm gently, "listen to me. You can't compare us to anyone else. You were with Terry for a long time and she ran roughshod over you, Will. You have unrealistic ideas about what a relationship should be. And I still have my . . . problems . . . and we both need to do some growing before we're ready to commit to each other that way."

She hated when he looked so defeated, which he always did when they had this conversation. But that was part of the reason she knew it wasn't time yet.

"We're soulmates," he tried again. "Doesn't that mean that it'll work out no matter what?"

"No. It means that you're my perfect match and I'm yours. Sometimes your perfect match is the person who most helps you to grow. To grow up." She got up and moved over to stand next to him. She knew how he liked it when she stood over him like that, running her fingers down his back. "Wanting to be with you is making me really face my disease and work to get better. You make me better, Will. And I'm working as hard as I can to get well so that I can claim you and we can have all of that. And you – you've never been on your own. You've always had someone telling you what to do. Submission is a gift, Will. And you can't really give me that gift until you understand both sides of it. What you gain _and_ what you give up. You don't know what you're giving up until you've had a chance to be completely in charge of your own life."

Will sighed, but he sounded more resigned than defeated so Emma decided to count that as a win. She bent down to kiss him fleetingly on the lips then rewarded him by using her strongest command voice. "I'm going to go invite Blaine to have lunch with me. I'll give you the choice of joining us or not. But if you come I expect you to be nice and welcoming."

"I still don't like it. Kurt's sixteen."

"Which is the age of consent in Ohio. And I might remind you that Kurt has parents who are perfectly capable of looking out for him, so he doesn't really need you to do that. What he needs is support. And I, for one, am going to support him."

Will held her gaze for a long moment, then sighed. "I promised Tina I'd help her work on her solo at lunch."

Emma decided to believe him. She gave him her very best smile. "Okay," she said, "another time." She held out her hand and he took it, pulling himself out of his chair and following her to the door, where they parted, Will for the choir room and Emma toward Paul Fletcher's old classroom.

When Will's name had appeared on Emma's left wrist shortly after she turned fourteen, she and absolutely everyone else had been shocked speechless by the fact that tiny, meek Emma Pillsbury was a dom. Her parents had made her show them her mark that very morning, when it was still just a few disconnected letters, before they'd accepted it. Her classmates never did. Everyone seemed to be waiting for the day when her "real" mark showed up on her right wrist. Sometimes the teasing was so awful that she was sorely tempted to rip off her cuff in front of everyone just to shut people up. But she never did, because that name, _William Schuester_, was hers and hers alone. She didn't have many things that were hers. She sure as hell wasn't giving one of them up. And on a lot of levels she could understand her classmates' astonishment. Most of the time she didn't feel like a dom any more than she looked like one.

Her parents didn't help. They would drag her out in front of guests like a carnival oddity._ Can you imagine our kooky little Emma a dom? I mean she can hardly look a person in the eye. No, we have no earthly idea how it happened. Some kind of genetic accident or something. I mean, the child's afraid of everything from germs to water . . . pity the poor sub with her name on his wrist._ And because she was Emma, good, obedient, a caretaker, she would let herself be displayed and then climb the stairs back to her room meekly when they were finished with her. Some of her parents' friends had the good grace to look uncomfortable or embarrassed, but no one ever opened his or her mouth to speak up on Emma's behalf. She had never once in her life been told that she'd make a good dom.

So that was the first thing she told Kurt, when he came to school with his cuff the first day. Of course, Kurt wasn't her, and Kurt's parents weren't her parents, but it felt like an act of defiance anyhow, to pull him aside and congratulate him and tell him that his soulmate was going to be very lucky to have him for a dom. Kurt seemed sincerely grateful, but it obviously wasn't the life-changing affirmation for him that it would have been if anyone had ever done it for her.

But that was before Kurt's sub turned out to be Blaine Anderson, and Emma was bound and determined to show Kurt that he still had her support. One way to do that was to ensure that Blaine was accepted at McKinley despite being bonded to a student. With the exception of Sue Sylvester, almost all of the teachers on staff liked and respected Emma and she was going to make darned sure that everyone knew that if they wanted her friendship they were expected to be nice to Blaine as well. She would be their one-woman cheering section if she had to.

The class period was over and all of the students gone by the time Emma got to Blaine's room. Kurt had beaten her there, though, and she peeked around the door to find them standing beside Blaine's desk, heads close together, holding hands and talking quietly. For just a moment she hid in the corridor and let herself stare. Kurt was turned away from her, standing so tall and straight that she could feel his confidence even from the back. And Blaine, well, if she hadn't been inclined to like Blaine before then the way he was looking at Kurt, as if he'd personally hung the stars, would have converted her immediately. If anyone deserved to have someone that beautiful look at him that way, it was Kurt Hummel. Just because she hadn't claimed Will didn't mean Emma didn't know how it felt to look into the eyes of the person who made everything you'd been through worthwhile, and that was exactly how Blaine looked at Kurt.

She cleared her throat gently to announce herself. They turned, both looking slightly abashed, but Kurt smiled when he saw it was her.

"Miss Pillsbury. Can we help you?"

"Actually, I came to see if Blaine wanted to have lunch with me in the teachers' lounge. If it's okay with you, of course."

Kurt's smile widened at the acknowledgement of his authority. He turned to Blaine, who looked a little uncertain. "You should go."

"I don't . . ." Blaine began to shake his head, but Kurt put a hand on his arm and Emma could see his fingers tighten in a squeeze.

"Might as well get it over with. And I can go find Rachel and see if she'll talk to me."

She could tell Blaine was still wavering, but finally he nodded and went to pick up his bag.

"I'll see you after school," Kurt told Blaine as he made for the door. He paused long enough as he passed Emma to say, "You know I wasn't talking about you when I said get it over with, right?"

"Of course," she answered. "I'm so happy for you, Kurt."

He bit his lip then, in a way that made him look way too young to be doing anything at all with someone like Blaine, but Emma squashed that thought violently and gave him a smile as he left. Support. Only support.

Blaine gathered his things quickly. "It was very nice of Kurt to let me have you for a little bit," Emma said, winding her arm through his. She was more than a little afraid he might bolt.

"He needs to spend time with his friends, I know that."

"It won't be as bad as you think," she said as Blaine paused to close and lock the door. "Take it from someone who knows."

"What - you? Everyone here loves you."

Emma made a point of taking his arm again as they headed down the nearly empty hallway. "I didn't always have so many fans. At one point I was the local home wrecker. When I met Will he was married. But that all blew over and now everyone's happy for us. And they don't even know we're soulmates."

Blaine looked surprised. "Kurt told me you and Will were together, but he didn't say . . ."

"Well, we're trying to keep that to ourselves for now. I won't ask you not to tell Kurt, but maybe you could keep it just between you two?"

Blaine looked at her now, and it seemed like he was really looking at her for the first time. "So why are you telling me, then?"

"Because I think you need to know that you're not the only person who's had to deal with . . . unusual circumstances like this. And that you can usually win people over no matter how much they may disapprove of you at first."

"So," Blaine asked hesitantly, "you haven't claimed him?"

The question was probably impertinent coming from a sub, but Emma answered it anyhow. "I just . . . well, let's just say we have a lot of issues to work out."

"More than Kurt and me?"

Emma laughed, a short little sound that settled into a resigned smile. "That's is exactly what he said. It's hard for him, I know, but I just need to feel like we're ready . . ."

They were close enough now to the break room door that chattery voices could be heard through it and Emma felt Blaine stiffen a little beside her. But he stopped walking, pulled her back by the arm, and despite a wary glance at the closed door focused himself on her again. "Can I just say one thing?"

"Of course. Of course you can."

"The thing is, as scared as I was about people knowing about us, if Kurt hadn't wanted to claim me, even with our situation, I know I'd have felt like it was somehow my fault. Like I wasn't good enough. No matter what he said."

Emma wanted to tell him no way, she'd told Will it was their situation, not him, and he believed her. He didn't like it, but he believed. But she'd always known that wasn't true. He wouldn't look so defeated if it was.

When she didn't speak, Blaine seemed to take it as permission to keep going. "I know this is none of my business, but, well, subs know what they feel and want just like doms do. It kind of sounds like you're telling him what he's ready for instead of listening to him."

She probably should have stopped him, told him he was overreaching, but Emma's track record as a dom hadn't been exactly stellar and she found herself feeling so comfortable with Blaine. Feeling understood. So instead she asked, "But isn't it the dom's job to keep things on the right path and make the final decisions?"

"Of course it is. But you don't do that by telling him how he feels. You tell him how you feel and you listen when he tells you how he feels. And you think about that and make a decision. But you have to be really honest and you have to make him be honest with you. Even if it hurts."

"That sounds like the voice of experience."

Blaine smiled. "I've only known Kurt for five days, but they've been pretty eventful."

Emma grinned back at him, pulling him again toward the break room door. "I like you, Blaine Anderson," she said. "I mean, I liked you before for Kurt's sake, but now I think I'm going to like you just for you." And on that happy note she pulled the door open and launched them into the lounge.

**********

Blaine didn't really expect all conversation to stop when he and Emma walked through the door. He knew that fear was unrealistic, but he was still surprised when their entrance went almost completely unnoticed. It was strange to see tables full of chattering teachers; up until now Blaine had made a point of only coming in here when he knew it would be empty and taking his lunch back to eat at his desk.

The refrigerator was directly across the room from them and they would have to pass almost every table on the way to it. Emma pulled him resolutely forward, but stopped at the first table they came to. Sitting there was Matilda Dixon, the elderly teacher who'd brought him his dropped paper that first day, and she was flanked by two other older ladies. All three looked slightly alarmed when Emma arrived, securely attached to Blaine.

"Hello Matilda, Jean, Helen," she said in a voice so chipper and bright that it sang through the room and attracted enough attention that the din lowered just a bit. Blaine hoped he wasn't blushing as hard as it felt like he was. "Have you all met Blaine?" Emma continued. "He's replacing Paul for the rest of the year."

From somewhere to the left there was a murmured comment followed by a sharp laugh. Blaine wanted to run, he would have run, but Emma still had a death grip on his arm and was still smiling at the three old ladies as if nothing at all was wrong. The silence dragged on so long that Blaine found himself breaking it, if only to get this over with as quickly as possible. "Matilda and I have met," he said, hoping his voice didn't sound as stiffly formal to the others as it did to himself. "She saved me from loss of important paperwork my first day."

Matilda Dixon nodded brusquely at him and managed a short, "Blaine." Immediately Emma turned her expectant smile on the other two old biddies, and they didn't move on until both had also reluctantly acknowledged Blaine. As they moved away he could hear them behind him, whispering, the words _". . . poor boy"_ raised just enough for him to hear.

And so it went across the room. The first table was the worst by far, and there were even some people who were genuinely warm to him. The alarmingly large woman who coached the football team had beamed at him, going on and on about how much "that kid" deserved to find love, and in fact managed to inadvertently reference Kurt's age in so many ways that Blaine was tempted to join the rest of the room in laughing at the absurdity of it.

But where most of the staff were concerned, Blaine was treated like some stray dog Emma had dragged in off the street and was insisting everyone pet. People pet him for her sake, but always managed to express how much they disliked getting their fingers dirty. Blaine longed for the quiet of his office, wanting more and more, as they journeyed toward the refrigerator, to just bury his head in Kurt's lap and feel long fingers stroking through his hair. Which did nothing to help the stray dog feeling.

They eventually completed their trip around the room, retrieved their lunches, and settled at a little table in the corner. Blaine chose the chair that would put his back to the rest of the room. Emma gave him a happy smile. "Well that wasn't so bad, was it?" she asked as she carefully opened the seven different small containers that held her lunch.

"I guess not." If she wasn't so transparently sincere, Blaine would have suspected the trip around the room was some kind of punishment for being impertinent earlier, when he'd admonished her about honesty, but he knew that somehow this was really how Emma felt. It wasn't so bad. He wondered what her idea of "so bad" could possibly be.

He figured he was about to find out when the door opened and Emma, glancing up, looked genuinely alarmed for the first time in this whole farce. "Oh, no," she whispered before she could stop herself. Blaine turned around, resigned to facing whatever this next challenge was.

Sue Sylvester, cheerleading coach, was by the sink mixing something in a tall plastic container. Blaine hadn't actually met Sue, but he knew who she was. He'd known who she was inside his first hour and a half at McKinley, and he suspected that was true for everyone. Sue Sylvester was unavoidable.

"Maybe she won't come over," Emma said hopefully. But Sue finished mixing her concoction and, after a short survey of the room, made a beeline for the empty chair at their table.

"Hello Melanie, Scarlett," she said as she sat and occupied herself with her drink.

Blaine had no idea what she was talking about and Emma didn't seem inclined to say anything at all. "Umm . . . my name's Blaine," he attempted.

"I know who you are are. You're Porcelain's new boy toy." She took a long slow swig of the angry-looking green liquid, during which Blaine managed to realize that Porcelain must be a nickname for Kurt. "And just to be clear," she continued, lowering the container back to the table, "when I say 'boy toy' I mean that in the sexually submissive sense, not the age sense, as you are clearly all grown up, aren't you?"

Blaine simply gaped at her, pinned to his chair by the force of his astonishment. Even his worst nightmares had never included anything like this happening.

"Come on Sue," Emma spoke up, and there was a note of pleading in her voice that Blaine had never heard before from a dom. "They have enough to deal with, don't you think? You've registered your disapproval; now move on."

Sue made a noise that could only be described as a snort. "Well I don't know what conversation you're pretending to be a part of, Sparky, but I've registered nothing of the sort. I'm thrilled that Mike Brady here is Porcelain's soulmate.

"You are?" Emma asked with obvious sarcasm.

"I am," Sue replied. "For starters, it's reassuring to know that there's at least one dom in this place who actually knows how to claim a sub, even if it is a sixteen-year-old of dubious gender identity, which, really, should make you finally decide to just dig that hole to crawl into and leave the rest of us in peace. Secondly, that kid's had a hard time," she turned her attention to Blaine, whose brain was still back at "Mike Brady," "and you, Sir, are one grade A piece of man candy and if anyone deserves to get his hands on you it's Porcelain." She drained her container in one more long swig and thumped it resoundingly back on the table. "I for one hope he's doing all kinds of unspeakably kinky things to you after school and on the weekends. As long as I don't have to see it or know about it or stumble across the residue of it anywhere, I'm all for it. Let's face it, you're really already past your sexual peak and there's only so long you're going to be able to keep up with him. Gotta strike while the iron is hot."

"Sue . . ." Emma began, and Blaine couldn't imagine what she could possibly be thinking of saying in response. In any case, Sue didn't let her finish.

"And now I'm done with my lunch and with both of you," she said with finality and she was up and gone as quickly as she'd come.

"I'm really sorry, Blaine. That was the one thing I was hoping we'd be able to avoid."

But Blaine really wasn't listening. His brain was still trying to catch up, but there was something in what Sue had said - what everyone had said, really. It all began to come together, as he sat listening to Emma chatter. He was pretty sure he was having something like an epiphany.

**********

Emma had to track Will down after school. He wasn't in the choir room or his office and she wondered if he was avoiding her on purpose. But she was determined. She'd been thinking about what Blaine had said all day and she needed to find Will and talk to him before she lost her nerve.

She eventually discovered him in the copy room, running off sheets of music that surrounded him in stacks that made her fingers itch with the need to straighten and organize.

"We need to talk," she said when the sound of the door closing behind her made him look up.

He made The Face. The one he always made when they Talked. "I really need to get this done."

"That's okay. You copy. I'll talk."

He turned back to the machine, so she took that for assent. "I haven't been totally honest with you, or myself," she began, and he turned back to her immediately, because no matter how hurt he might be, Will at heart always tried to be what she needed. "And talking to Blaine today made me realize that I haven't been fair to you."

Will's eyebrows raised at the mention of Blaine, but he didn't speak.

"I'm afraid," she said, and she didn't even realize how true it was until she got it out. "I'm afraid that if I claim you and we really do this together, I'm going to end up using you. To enable me. My illness. My OCD."

Will was beside her immediately, catching her hands in his own strong grip. "What are talking about? We're a perfect match, remember? Didn't you just tell me your perfect match helps you to grow?"

"I did . . . say that, but you are so submissive, Will, and that scares me. Because it would be so easy for me to use that. Maybe to enable me. Maybe to hurt you. Like my parents used to do to me, some screwed up way to prove that I really am a dom . . ."

"Hey!" He cut her off and pulled her into a kiss, all gentle and soft, just pressing their lips together until her instinctive stiffening relaxed and she leaned a little against his chest. When they parted he was smiling down at her. "You couldn't be your parents if you tried."

She nodded. "I know, I know that's just fear talking, but you know I'm not above the other stuff. How many times have you sat and cleaned my fruit for me? And I know you enjoy it, and there are so many other things you could enjoy that I'm not ready to give you but I can give you that and it would be so easy . . ."

"And you don't trust me to speak up and tell you when you're doing that? I was the one who wanted you to get treatment in the first place, remember?"

"That's what I meant when I said I hadn't been fair to you. I just told myself you wouldn't be able to do that, instead of really talking to you about it. And I'm sorry."

He stepped back a tiny bit, still holding her hands but giving her a little distance before he said, "So what does this mean?"

She could hear the hope in his voice, but as much as she wanted to fulfill it, she knew she wasn't quite ready to go there yet. She wasn't ready.

"I love that you trust me not to use you or take advantage of you. But I don't trust myself yet. So . . . I want you to come see Dr. Shane with me next week when I go." Will looked surprised, but he didn't make The Face. "If you're okay with it, I want us both to talk to her. I think she can help us . . . help me feel safer about everything. Would you do that for me?"

"Are you kidding? I would do literally anything if it gets us closer to you being ready to claim me. Anything."

Emma refrained from pointing out that that was exactly what she was afraid of, his willingness to be whatever she wanted him to be. It was a beautiful quality in a sub, she told herself, and she just needed a little bit of work to become the dom who could really embrace that, instead of running in fear.

"You really could be doing this better," was all she said, and she began straightening his copies, calculating whether an alphabetical or genre-specific arrangement would be best, controlling what she could and giving up control where she needed to. For now.

**********

Kurt let himself into Blaine's office with the key Blaine had given him only that morning, dumped his bags on the floor and settled into the old wooden guest chair to wait for Blaine to clean up after his last class and make his way there. The chair really was impossible. It might be comfortable, for somebody with four times the padding he had on his ass, but there was no question it had to be replaced. He could appreciate its retro appeal, but in this case function definitely had to come before form.

He'd been worried all afternoon. Had he pushed Blaine too hard, too soon, by making him face the teachers' lounge? It had just seemed like Miss Pillsbury's offer was too good to resist and he'd counted on the fact that she would protect Blaine from the worst of it. He couldn't imagine anyone other than Coach Sylvester would dare to actually be mean to Blaine with Miss Pillsbury right there, but that didn't mean they couldn't find ways to make their disapproval obvious.

It had to be done, though. Blaine would be working at McKinley for two and a half months. He couldn't hide the entire time. It had made more sense to just send him into the teachers' lounge to get it all over with at once, rather than drag it out through dozens of unexpected encounters in hallways and bathrooms and offices.

He jumped when he heard Blaine's key in the door and his heart was still racing when it opened and Blaine appeared. He smiled a little when he saw Kurt, but he didn't say anything and although Kurt searched his face for any sign of a reaction, good or bad, Blaine gave nothing away. He put his bag on the desk then sat on the edge of it, facing Kurt, so close in the tiny room that his shins bumped Kurt's knees.

"So . . . are you mad at me?" Kurt finally asked. He couldn't decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing that Blaine hadn't fallen to his knees the minute the door closed.

"Why would I be mad at you?" Blaine asked, which didn't really help answer Kurt's question.

"Because I made you go with Miss Pillsbury. Was it awful? I just thought that with her there it . . ."

Blaine touched Kurt's leg gently, probably just to get him to stop babbling, but it bore enough resemblance to his asking-to-talk gesture that Kurt automatically stopped talking and said, "Go ahead."

Blaine's hands clasped in front of his mouth for a moment as he hesitated over what to say. When he finally spoke his voice was quiet but firm. "I think I figured out something really important. It's been spinning around in my head all afternoon and . . ." He didn't finish his sentence, but he looked Kurt right in the eye and then Kurt could see it. Some emotion, some big emotion was lurking just under the surface and Blaine was trying to control and understand it in that way he had. Kurt reached out and took one of Blaine's hands in his, but he didn't speak.

"It was bad," Blaine said, "and it wasn't. It wasn't fun, to face all that, but . . . at some point I realized, none of it was really about me. It was all about you."

"I don't know what . . ."

"Everyone in that room had an opinion, about you. Either I was the good guy because you deserve to have happiness and love in your life after everything you've been through, or I was the bad guy because you deserve better than someone so much older who'll steal your childhood or innocence or whatever."

"Blaine . . ."

Blaine squeezed Kurt's hand tight. "Let me finish, okay. I need to work this out."

Kurt just squeezed back and nodded.

"Pretty much everyone in that room, whether they liked me or hated me, felt the way they felt because of how they felt about you. They all care so much about you Kurt. I mean, I feel like you're the most amazing person ever, but I'm your soulmate. I'm supposed to feel that way. My brother's wife feels that way about him, too, but trust me, he's not that big a deal."

Kurt could feel Blaine's hand start to shake a little; it was damp with sweat and Blaine pulled away and wiped both his palms on his pants, following tne movement with his eyes. "Everyone who was in that room thinks you're amazing, Kurt. I didn't hear 'he's messing with a student,' I heard, 'he's messing with Kurt,' or 'he's making Kurt happy.' It's not just me. You're special to everyone." He looked up and Kurt was alarmed to see that his eyes were filling with tears. "You're extraordinary, Kurt. That's the one thing everyone in that room agreed about. Even Sue Sylvester."

Kurt was starting to feel very worried about where this was going. If going into that lunch room today pushed Blaine back into his shell he would never forgive himself.

Blaine kept blinking away tears that didn't quite manage to spill over. "And the thing is . . . if you're that special, and fate picked me to be your perfect match, then . . ."

Relief sang through Kurt's body and he grinned and reached out to touch Blaine's knee. "Go ahead. Say it."

"Then I must be pretty special too." He seemed adtonished to be saying the words, as if the whole idea was completely new to him. A few tears finally managed to escape his hold, slipping gently down his cheeks. "I mean, fate looked at you - at all the amazing things you were going to be and do - and said, 'Who's good enough to spend their life making him happy?' And somehow the answer was . . ."

_Blaine Anderson_. Kurt had slipped off his cuff while Blaine was talking and now he held up his bare wrist, so Blaine could see his own name, traced forever in the skin there, proof positive of everything he was saying.

They moved at the same time, Blaine sliding off the desk, Kurt pushing up out of his chair, and met in the middle, lips coming together like a reunion, kissing softly, tenderly, affirming. Tiny, gorgeous noises came out of Blaine's throat when Kurt cupped his face in his hands, wiping gently at the tears there, and he clutched his arms around Kurt's body, fingers digging into the muscle's of Kurt's back like he never wanted to let go.

Eventually Kurt pulled back just enough to murmur, "I've been telling you that all along, you know. I don't know why it took a room full of stupid teachers to make you see it."

Blaine leaned forward to keep his face pressed to Kurt's, tracing his nose along Kurt's cheek bone back to nuzzle at his ear. "Does that make me a bad sub?" he whispered. "Do you need to punish me?"

"No," Kurt wiped the last of the tears from Blaine's face, "I think you deserve a present."

Blaine pulled back then and gave him a tiny, comical pout.

"I'm serious," Kurt said. "And I just happen to have gotten you a present while I was out for lunch."

"I thought you were going to try to talk to Rachel at lunch?"

"I did. Try." Kurt reached behind the little wooden chair and pulled out the shopping bag he'd left there. "But I guess she's still avoiding me. I couldn't find her, in any case."

"She'll come around. I know you can imagine how hard this must be for her."

"I know," Kurt said. "It's just that she was so excited for me before she knew it was you. I was kind of looking forward to all the over-sharing we'd be doing. Anyhow," he handed over the shopping bag with a flourish, "this can now be your official 'Realizing How Perfect You Are' present."

"Thank you," Blaine said and he took the bag and pulled out the box it held. "It's . . . a lamp. You got me a lamp." He looked up at Kurt and couldn't quite hide his confusion.

"It's a replica 1950s. Very hip. Or mod, or whatever."

"Okay, well, that'll look great on my piano . . ."

Kurt snatched the box out of his hands and began to pull it open. "Don't be ridiculous. This would be all wrong on your piano! Or anywhere in your apartment. It's for here."

"I already have a light here," Blaine said, gesturing vaguely at the fixture in the ceiling.

"A fluorescent light, Blaine. No one ever looked their best under a fluorescent light. Not even me." He pulled the lamp from the box, plugged it into the wall and set it on the desk, adjusting the dimmer precisely.

"I think you look good in any light."

"Just turn it off, Blaine."

Blaine flipped the switch on the wall and his eyes widened as the room was plunged into a soft, amber glow. "Oh," he breathed.

"Oh," Kurt repeated with a smile.

"This is _mood_ lighting."

"This," Kurt said, settling himself once again in the impossible chair that was definitely the next thing he was going to replace, "is get your ass over here and let me show you how special you really are lighting." He crooked a come-hither finger in Blaine's direction.

And Blaine, the perfect sub, obeyed.


	3. Wednesday

The lamp was genius.

Maybe he was just a very visual person, but the soft light definitely had an effect on Blaine. In its warm glow he seemed more relaxed and pliant - more like who he was when they were alone in his apartment. He'd allowed Kurt to settle him in the hard chair and straddle his lap, wrapping his fingers around the wooden arms at Kurt's command and staring up at him with those perfect, expressive eyes whose color danced just over the edge into green in the diffuse lamplight.

"You have no idea how much I miss you at night," Blaine was saying, and Kurt was pretty sure he wasn't even aware of the way his body was moving, writhing gently against the seat and pushing up for contact as Kurt held himself just out of reach.

"So you think about me?" he teased.

"You know what I think about? I think about sleeping with you," his expression shifted into a kind of dreamlike longing, "just sleeping, together, every night. I swear it's like porn to me, the thought of getting to wake up with you wrapped around me _every single morning_." He moaned out the words and Kurt finally let his hips drop to settle against Blaine's lap.

"It sounds like porn, the way you say it," Kurt said and he tangled his fingers in the soft curls at the back of Blaine's head and half pulled, half bent to bring their mouths together. Their tongues met even before their lips did and Kurt marveled at how familiar it was already, kissing like this. After all, less than a week ago he'd barely been out of the "what do you do with your nose?" stage. Getting up and to school an hour early was completely worth it when he had Blaine like this, moaning quietly into his mouth and hardening under his ass. He pulled back and let his gaze, and then his hands, slide down Blaine's torso.

He'd been a little surprised by how much he loved Blaine's nipples. They were so sensitive and when Blaine was aroused they were big enough to be easily seen through the fabric of whatever shirt he had tucked tightly into his pants. The nipples made up for the fact that he couldn't actually get to Blaine's skin at times like these. He could feel every bump through the cotton and from the reaction he got he suspected that the fabric made the sensation even more intense for Blaine than when he was naked. Thanks to those nipples, Kurt could have Blaine at his mercy pretty much any time with just two fingertips. And he was starting to be okay with admitting that he loved having Blaine at his mercy; loved the fact that Blaine was willing to _be_ at his mercy, that he needed and craved it so much. Blaine's hands tightened and flexed on the arms of the chair but they stayed put, even as Kurt teased over his nipples again and again and rotated his hips in Blaine's lap.

"So, I've been thinking . . ." Kurt said, finally stilling his hands against Blaine's chest so he could feel the rise and fall of his breathing.

"I don't know whether to be excited or scared," Blaine said. He craned his head up to try to recapture Kurt's lips.

"I've been thinking," Kurt continued, staying just out of reach, "that we should make a new rule."

"I like rules."

"I know you do." Kurt said. "So you know that rule that you don't touch yourself or anything unless I say you can?" He watched a flush creep up Blaine's neck to stain his cheeks and slid his hands upward again, stroking his thumbs along Blaine's jaw line.

"Right," Blaine breathed.

"Well, I want to make it more . . . official. So, officially, you don't have permission at all during the week. You only come on the weekends, when we're together. If I let you."

Blaine groaned and redoubled his efforts to reach Kurt's lips. Kurt bent close enough to tease him with feather-light brushes then pulled back again. He let one hand slide back down Blaine's chest and further, to tease at the bulge in his pants. "Does this mean you like the idea?"

"'Like' doesn't really seem like the right word," Blaine said a little breathlessly as Kurt's long fingers played over his crotch, "but it's really hot."

"It's a lot of teasing and waiting. Can you handle it?"

Blaine's thighs flexed under Kurt's ass as he tried and failed to push against Kurt's hand. "I'm pretty sure you've noticed how much I love it," he said, "and if it gets to be too much I can always safe word, right?"

Kurt rewarded him for that with the kiss he'd been begging for, stroking just a little bit harder against his cock as their tongues met again. He was hard too, by now, and that gave him another idea. He pulled their lips apart and slid his mouth along Blaine's jaw to whisper in his ear as seductively as he could, "You have no idea how hot is to know that I could just go take care of myself in the bathroom right now while you have to sit here hard with nothing to do about it."

"Mmmm, you're good," Blaine murmured against Kurt's jaw. "But I can't really imagine you jerking off in a school bathroom." He nipped at Kurt's chin and his tongue flicked against the cleft.

"But the point is I could. Or after school, at home. And you have. To. Wait." He punctuated each word with a sharp squeeze of Blaine's cock that had him pushing his hips up so hard that he actually managed to lift Kurt off the seat a bit. His head fell back against the chair, exposing his throat, and Kurt slid his free hand up to circle it, not squeezing, just resting below his Adam's apple. Blaine shivered.

"I want to touch you," Blaine begged.

"No. Keep your hands where I put them."

"It's one thing to not let me come, but not letting me touch you is just cruel." Blaine twisted his perfect lips into an exaggerated pout.

Kurt met the pout with his best attempt at an evil smile. "I don't think it's cruel," he said. "Touching me is a privilege you have to earn."

"Oh, you're _very_ good," Blaine breathed.

Kurt kept his light grip on Blaine's throat while his other hand roamed in long, slow strokes up and down Blaine's torso, catching on his nipples, teasing around the edges of his cock, back and forth as Blaine's breathing sped up in time with his hand. "I love how much you love this," he said.

"What time is it?" Blaine asked without lifting his head from the back of the chair. Kurt had to drag his eyes away from the sublime shape his half-open lips made to glance at the clock. 7:25.

"Don't worry," he said, "I can play with you for at least five more minutes before we have to stop." He punctuated that with another long stroke down Blaine's body, and when his fingers brushed over Blaine's ribs he gasped in a sharp breath.

"Do you like that?" Kurt asked. He let go of Blaine's neck and used both hands to tickle gently just under Blaine's ribs while he rested his weight more fully in Blaine's lap to hold him down. The reaction was immediate. Blaine didn't laugh or squirm away, he just sucked in air with sharp gulps that were almost like laughter, but not quite. Kurt could see muscles and tendons flexing under the skin of Blaine's forearms and around his black cuff as his hands clutched at the wood. He kept at it and Blaine's entire body tensed and started to quiver.

"Oh God . . . oh fuck, Kurt . . ."

Kurt loved it when Blaine cursed. He made it sound like a prayer and it went through Kurt's body so powerfully that he was starting to reconsider his decision to not let Blaine blow him when they were here in the office. After all, Blaine was the one who liked to suffer, not him. He rotated his hips to press his own hard length against Blaine's and closed his eyes, letting himself just enjoy the rough friction. His fingers kept tickling and Blaine's curses began to deteriorate into wordless moans and gasps that made the need Kurt felt all the more intense.

Then one of Blaine's moans pitched upwards into something that sounded much more like a sob and Kurt's hands stilled immediately. "Is that too much?" he asked.

Blaine had to take a second to catch his breath before he opened his eyes just enough to bring Kurt into focus. "Did you hear me say a safe word?"

"No, but, I think I got a little carried away. We both have class in half an hour. It's not the best time for discovering new kinks." He poked playfully at Blaine's side and this time Blaine did laugh. "We should probably stop now."

Except God, he was hard and suddenly all he could think about was tying Blaine up and seeing how far he could push this tickle thing, and the thought of retiring to opposite corners of the tiny office to let his erection ebb away was almost painful. It didn't help that Blaine chose that exact moment to lick his lips in the most provocative way possible, as if he could hear Kurt's resolve weakening.

Kurt looked at the clock again. 7:28. They could do it. He was just as turned on as Blaine was; it wouldn't take long. Blaine would still have time to settle down enough that he wouldn't make a spectacle of himself in front of his first period freshmen. Watching his boyfriend still gripping the arms of the chair just like he'd been told to do, Kurt honestly couldn't remember why he'd ever objected to the idea.

"So remember how you asked if you could blow me?"

Blaine's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

_Bam! Bam! Bam!_ The raps on the door sounded three times louder than they actually were and sent Kurt's heart careening into his throat.

Right. That was why.

"Shit!" Blaine practically shoved Kurt off his lap, casting an alarmed glance at the door then back to Kurt.

"Get behind your desk," Kurt whispered, although he was sure that the knock on the door had been as much of an erection-killer for Blaine as it had been for him. "I'll open it."

And maybe Blaine's erection was harder to kill than Kurt's because he dove for his desk chair and grabbed a random book from his bag to open in front of him.

_Bam! Bam!_ "Kurt? Are you in there?"

Puck? Kurt glanced at Blaine, who nodded his readiness, then flicked on the overhead light and unlocked the door.

It was indeed Puck standing outside and he looked very relieved at having found Kurt and not at all surprised at where and how he'd found him. "Cool. You're here. I've been looking for you everywhere. Hey Mr. A." He nodded in Blaine's direction.

"Hi Noah." Blaine's voice was just strained enough that Kurt suspected not even Puck's presence had managed to calm his body down completely.

"I need Kurt for a kind of emergency Glee Club thing, if that's okay with you."

That brought Kurt's attention back to Puck, despite his still-racing heart. "Why are you asking him?" He held up his cuffed left wrist in case Puck needed a visual aide to remember that he was the dom here.

"Dude, he's a teacher."

Kurt's mouth dropped open a little at that and he turned to find Blaine looking just as surprised, and...pleased? Yes, he definitely seemed pleased that Puck had acknowledged him that way. Kurt flashed him a bright smile. "Well, Mr. Anderson?" he teased. "Are you finished with me?"

Blaine's eyes darkened but his voice was all professional. "For now. He's all yours, Noah."

Kurt gave Blaine a tiny wink and grabbed his bag to follow Puck out into the hall, pausing only for a quick, "See you at lunch?" Blaine nodded.

"So what's Rachel having a breakdown about now?" He asked as he shut the door and hurried to catch up to Puck, who was already setting a quick pace down the hall.

"Rachel's not even there. I just . . . well wait until we get to the auditorium and you'll see."

"The auditorium? Is it a new number for Nationals?"

Puck grinned. "Just wait, okay?"

"Why does this sound like something I'm not going to like?"

Puck gave a snort that had an equal feeling of agreement and disagreement. "Don't shoot me. I'm just the guy they sent to get you."

Kurt glared at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Puck ignored that. "Oh, hey, I wasn't trying to mess with your authority back there, by the way," he said as they approached the double doors to the auditorium, "it's just that the fact that he's your sub doesn't change the fact that he's my history teacher, you know?"

"No, I'm glad you did it," Kurt admitted. Puck side-eyed him skeptically. "I'm serious. We're at school and you're right. He's a teacher. It's really important to him that students don't treat him differently just because of me."

"Alert the press! Puck does something right for a change." He grinned and pulled the auditorium door open, sweeping a hand at Kurt. "After you, my lady."

"Might want to hold off on alerting the press," Kurt sniped, but he went through the door anyhow.

The auditorium was dark and Puck pulled the door closed too quickly for Kurt to see anything more than a flurry of movement before even the light from the corridor was cut off. There was furious whispering, somebody giggled, then suddenly light flooded the stage and cries of "Surprise!" filled his ears.

When his eyes adjusted to the sudden burst of light he could see all his friends on the stage under a painted banner that read "Congratulations Kurt!" in lurid hot-pink letters. Everyone was staring at him expectantly.

"Finn!" he accused as he beelined down the aisle, Puck plodding along behind him.

"Wasn't me, dude!" Finn protested. "Mom threatened to sell my baseball card collection on ebay if I told anyone. She's never threatened my cards. Not even when we thought I got Quinn pregnant."

Kurt turned his indignation on Puck, who just shrugged.

"Yeah, I told 'em."

"Come on, Kurt," Mercedes called from the stage. "We're happy for you. Don't freak out at Puck, okay?"

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I wanted to tell everyone myself?" Kurt asked Puck.

"Yes. Obviously," Puck said defensively. "But you weren't telling anyone, were you? I kept your secret for two whole days, dude. That's longer than I've ever kept a secret. Except that one about being the guy who really knocked Quinn up."

"Why does this keep coming back to me getting pregnant?" Quinn asked no one in particular.

"You kept my secret for _one_ day."

"Day and a half," Puck allowed. "Still a record."

"Don't be mad, Kurt," Tina said. "It's a big deal. We just wanted to celebrate with you." She headed down the stage-right steps and the others, apparently accepting the fact that Kurt wasn't going to come up, trailed after her.

"Yeah, we even got bagels. And one of those coffee boxes from Starbucks. Nothing says we love you like a box of coffee, right?" Artie smirked as he rolled around the curtain and down his ramp.

Kurt thought about protesting a little more. He was glad his friends were happy for him, but this, having everyone looking at him and knowing, made him feel exposed and vulnerable in a way that he never had before, which was surprising given how much bullying he'd endured. But they all looked genuinely happy for him and no one seemed disgusted, and they'd all come to school early and even brought food, laid out very nicely on a side table that Sam was eyeing hungrily. And Mercedes was still giving him that hopeful smile.

"You're right, thank you," he smiled back and he swore he could see a few of them breathe sighs of relief. Finn and Sam both grinned at him and made for the bagels. "But shouldn't Blaine be here too? Why didn't we bring him?" he asked Puck.

"Who's Blaine?" Sam mumbled past a mouthful of bagel.

Kurt stared at Puck. "I thought you said you told them?"

"I told them you found your soulmate. I didn't tell them who it was. That's the best part!" he sauntered over to the coffee box, as if Kurt wasn't looking at him like he was plotting murder. "I had to leave something for you to tell, right?"

Everyone was staring at him again.

"Okay," he took a deep breath, "ummm, well, that's who my soulmate is. It's Blaine Anderson."

Nothing. The lack of reaction was completely unnerving. Finally Mike asked, "Who's Blaine Anderson?"

"Blaine Anderson!" Puck echoed, as if it was the funniest joke ever. "It's Mr. Anderson!"

"Mr. Anderson my history teacher?" Santana sputtered through a mouthful of coffee.

"Mr. Anderson's gay?" Artie asked.

"My _history_ teacher is your sub?!" Santana again, looking at Kurt like he'd personally offended her somehow.

Kurt nodded.

"But he's really old, isn't he?" Brittany asked.

All eyes focused on him again. "He's not really old," Kurt said defensively. "He's twenty-seven."

Mouths fell open. Eyebrows went up. Kurt could feel his jaw tighten under the scrutiny. He knew it was a lot to digest and that he should understand their reactions but he was just about done. Was it too much to ask that one person just be happy for him without all the drama?

A slurp from the table drew his eyes to Puck, grinning over his coffee cup. One person besides him, he amended.

Everyone else was still staring. "Look," he said, trying to keep his tone even and calm, "he's my soulmate, okay? He's got my name and I've got his. We didn't go looking for this. You get who you get . . ."

"And you don't get upset," Britt piped up.

". . . and he's amazing and I wouldn't want it any other way. And if you can't accept that, then I'm sorry, but I think my real friends would be happy for me."

His words seemed to unfreeze Mercedes, who rushed up into his space and gave him an unexpected but thankfully swift hug. "Oh, honey, we're happy for you. It's just a lot for everyone to take in. I mean, he's a grown up, you know?"

"He's a teacher," Sam chimed in. "That's even worse than a grown up."

Kurt glared at Sam. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Mercedes grabbed his arm and Kurt pulled back a little in case another hug was coming. But instead she shot her own glare in Sam's direction. "He didn't mean anything, did you Sam?"

"I'm not going to say it's not weird," Sam insisted. "Come on. You all think it's weird, don't pretend you don't. Kurt's sub is a teacher. In what universe is that _not_ weird?"

"I don't have to stay for this." Kurt jerked his arm out of Mercedes' grasp and turned to leave but found Santana blocking his path, arms crossed firmly over her chest.

"Listen, baby dom," she said, "You found your soulmate, which is awesome for you and all that but really, hot as the image of you beating his perfect, twenty-seven-year-old ass is, it's still weird. Anyone who says it's not is lying."

"Yes, okay, it may take some time for everyone to get used to the idea," Mercedes persisted, "but that doesn't mean we're not happy for you." She took Kurt's hand and pulled him toward the table of food. "We've only got fifteen minutes until the bell rings so let's all eat, okay? This is supposed to be a party."

But even her cheer was forced now and the others didn't even bother to try. They all smiled at him, some warily, some placatingly, but they drifted carefully away in twos and threes to talk and nibble and slurp down coffee, only casting the occasional glance in his direction. And when they did, most of them looked like they were trying to figure out who the creature was who'd taken Kurt Hummel's place. Like they'd never really seen him before. Only Puck, happily scarfing down bagels, seemed to be immune and unaware of the tension that filled the room.

Still, Kurt had endured years of bullying and teasing; he could handle an awkward breakfast with his friends. He made himself a cup of coffee and sat next to Finn in the front row to wait out the time until he could escape to geometry. Finn looked nervous, and Kurt didn't think it had anything to do with Blaine.

"So what's her excuse this time?" Kurt asked.

"Huh?" Finn said, oh so eloquently, through a mouthful of bread.

Kurt twisted in his seat to face his brother directly. "Come on, Finn. Rachel would never miss something like this. She's avoiding me. She hasn't said one word to me since she found out about Blaine. But I'm sure she gave you some story to explain why she's not here so I might as well give you a chance to tell it."

"No, dude, really, she and her dads are having some neighbors over for dinner tonight and they needed to run through their number before Mr. Berry goes to work . . ." he stood up abruptly, looking around for somewhere to drop his coffee cup. "So, I'm just going to, um, go to my locker because I need some . . . books!"

"Finn!" Kurt called after him but Finn barreled up the aisle like he was being chased by zombies. Kurt sighed. Ten more minutes of sitting alone and he'd be free.

After a moment Quinn wandered over with her own coffee and settled in the chair next to him.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it," she said casually.

"Get used to what?"

"The way they look at you. Like they're not sure who you are." She gave him a sad little smile and took a sip of her coffee.

"How did you . . .?"

"It's the way you all looked at me when I was in the hospital with Beth."

"We did?" Kurt couldn't remember thinking of Quinn any differently after Beth was born.

"It's okay," she said, "I understood. I'd done this thing, you know, this adult thing that none of you could really relate to. I was still a kid, but all of sudden I had one foot in a really grown up world. Part of me was in a place that none of you could even imagine. And now it's the same for you."

"Just because he's older?" Kurt asked. "I'm still me. I'm still sixteen."

"But he's not. He's a teacher and an adult and you dominate him. What does that say about you? About your authority and what you're capable of?" She nodded her head in the direction of the food table, where almost everyone was still crowded around, laughing at some story Artie was telling. "They're realizing that you're already doing things they can't even imagine doing themselves. Except maybe Puck. He probably imagines dominating teachers all the time."

"Is that why he's the only one not looking at me funny?"

Quinn laughed. "That and, I think he got his own share of looks when Beth was born. She made him a father, after all."

Kurt had to take a moment to wrap his brain around the idea that the two people who could most relate to him now might be Puck and Quinn. "So does it ever end?" he asked. "Do they ever get used to it?"

"Well, for me, the looks stopped when I gave her up and came back to school and put on my uniform like nothing had ever happened. But you can't really do that with your soulmate, can you?"

"I wouldn't want to."

"So I guess you just have to get used to it." She touched his hand briefly with a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "It seems like a small price to pay for the love of your life." And Kurt realized, looking into her eyes, that she wasn't really talking about him and Blaine.

He also realized, as he watched her walk away to where Mercedes and Tina were bustling around cleaning up the remains of the party, that he could handle this. He was used to people giving him strange looks and not understanding him. As long as he knew where it was coming from, he could take it. Blaine was worth it.

He pushed himself out of his chair and made his own way over to Mercedes, who turned from packing up food to give him a slightly worried look. He gave her his most genuine smile and pulled her into a hug. "Thank you," he said when they separated. "This was really sweet."

"You're happy," she said with her own smile. "I just thought we should celebrate that. And we'll get used to the rest. It may take us a little bit of time, but we will."

Kurt hoped that was true, but he knew that he'd be okay either way.

"Betty! Betts, get down here!"

Lauren Carpenter (yes, still Carpenter, thank you very much and her mother-in-law could disapprove as much as she wanted) put the last of the camera lenses into its place in her bag and sat it next to the open suitcase on the bed.

"Betts!" Cooper called again from downstairs. "Believe me, you're gonna want to hear this!"

He'd started calling her Betty shortly after they'd met. In Cooper logic this was because Lauren Bacall's real name had been Betty and Humphrey Bogart always called her that and what was good enough for Lauren Bacall was good enough for Cooper Anderson's soulmate. She'd pointed out that the comparison didn't hold up, since Lauren was actually her real name, but as she'd come to learn was usual, Cooper did as Cooper wanted. She suspected strongly that it had more to do with making him feel like Humphrey Bogart than with making her feel like Lauren Bacall.

"Betts!" came the insistent call again. She zipped the suitcase closed and left the room to make her way down the stairs just far enough so that she could see him in the living room with the phone to his ear, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. "Oh, no, little bro. You are screwed and I mean capital S Screwed."

He was talking to Blaine, then. Lauren sighed. Whatever he was screwed for, she was sure it wouldn't make her anywhere near as happy as it seemed to be making Cooper. She _liked_ Blaine.

"Come on, babe . . ." Cooper shouted for her again but broke off when he saw her there on the stairs.

"I'm trying to pack," she called down to him. "The car'll be here in two hours."

He grinned up at her. "Oh, you're gonna want to hear this. My baby brother has just secured your place for all time as my parents' favorite in-law!"

She came further down the stairs until she could hear an echo of Blaine's voice coming through the receiver of the phone. "Just wait," Cooper told his brother, "I'm telling Betty."

"Telling me what?"

"I just said. We're gonna have to send Blainey double birthday presents after this!" He bounced up and down like a toddler who needed to pee. "You'll be looking pretty good to my mother now!"

She couldn't imagine what Blaine could have done, but Cooper must be overestimating whatever it was. This was Blaine, after all. "I have it on good authority that Margaret Anderson will never appreciate having a 'stripper who takes pictures of things nobody wants to look at in the first place' for an in-law."

"She didn't say that," Cooper said. "I'm sure she said 'ex-stripper.'"

"She did not say 'ex-stripper' and what does this have to do with anything, anyhow?"

"It's too good!" Cooper gloated. "Blaine'll tell you. Here, talk to Betty," he said into the phone and he handed it to her and dropped onto the couch, eyes glued to her face in anticipation of some reaction.

Lauren put the phone to her ear. "Blaine honey, is that you?"

"Hey Lauren," the answer came, and as always she could hear the warmth in Blaine's voice even over the phone. She genuinely loved Blaine and she knew he loved her too. They had bonded early over the shared drama of having Cooper in their lives.

"So what the fuck is your idiot brother talking about now?"

A pillow from the couch smacked into her arm and dropped to the floor. "You could at least try to act like a sub," Cooper said.

"Act like a dom and I'll think about it," she shot back. "What's up, honey?"

There was a short silence from Blaine, then, "I . . . met him. My soulmate."

"Oh my God, that's wonderful!" And it was. It sort of made her want to cry. You'd have to have been blind not to notice how hard being alone had been for Blaine. "Is he perfect?"

"He's so perfect, Lauren. I can't wait for you to meet him. It's . . . I've never felt like this before."

"So, tell me more. What's his name?"

"Kurt," he said, and Lauren couldn't help smiling at the tone of his voice. She hadn't forgotten how that first flush of excitement felt when you realized you'd found that one person who would make all your dreams come true.

"So, details . . .?" she prompted.

"He's perfect," Blaine repeated. "He understands me and he knows just what I need . . ."

"Okay, no, I meant physical details," she teased. "Shoulders, ass, dick . . ."

He laughed and she could practically hear him blushing. "Um, strong . . . firm, and . . . none of your business."

They both laughed at that. "I'm really happy for you, Blaine. He sounds wonderful."

"Just wait for the rest," Cooper chortled from the couch.

Lauren sighed. "You might as well tell me what he's talking about."

There was a long silence from Blaine's end of the phone. "He's . . . younger than me."

"Okay, how much younger?"

"An apt question," said Cooper, and she scooped the pillow he'd thrown off the floor and winged it back at him.

"He's a student," Blaine said quietly.

"Well, you're still sort of student too, right? I mean, this is just time off then you'll be back in school."

"No, he's actually a high school student."

Lauren was suddenly very glad this wasn't Skype so Blaine couldn't see the way her mouth dropped open. She kept her voice carefully neutral. "So he's . . ."

"Sixteen," Blaine finished for her. "But he'll be seventeen in a couple months."

"And now she understands!" Cooper crowed from the couch.

"I know it's shocking . . ." Blaine began.

"No, honey, I mean, yeah, it's - different - but hey, your soulmate is your soulmate."

"Tell that to my mom," both brothers said at the same time in completely different tones of voice.

"Cooper's an idiot. Is your mom going to love the idea? No. But I don't even think a teenager could make her less happy than an ex-stripper who takes ugly pictures and refuses to use her darling son's last name."

"At least you're a girl."

She hated hearing the bitterness in his voice. People like Blaine should never be bitter. "Oh, come on, Blaine. She accepted that a long time ago."

"Maybe in theory. But when I show up with a sixteen-year-old boy as my dom? Cooper's right. I'm screwed."

"No. Listen. You are one of the best people I know. Seriously, you're what makes being Cooper's soulmate bearable, Blaine."

"Hey!" The pillow came back at her but she was ready for it this time and expertly batted it back to smack her husband in the face.

"And if Kurt's the person fate picked out for you then he must be just as terrific. And everyone will see that. Even your parents, eventually. And if they can't, then fuck 'em. You deserve happiness as much as anyone else. More than most people if you ask me."

"Thanks, Lauren. You're definitely what makes being Cooper's brother bearable."

"Don't I know it." She glanced at her watch, "Listen, honey, I have to go, I'm heading up to San Francisco in a couple of hours to shoot some street art for the magazine. Do you want to talk to your brother again?"

"No, I have papers to grade. Just tell him I said bye, okay?"

"Sure. And Blaine?"

"Yeah?"

"It really will be okay. And if it's not, well, love makes a lot of things bearable, take it from me."

They said goodbye, and Lauren dropped the phone on the side table and fell onto the couch next to Cooper, who was clutching the pillow to his chest and waiting for her reaction with sparkling eyes.

"Holy shit," she finally managed.

"Did I tell you?!" He was far too gleeful.

"Sixteen!"

"Sixteen," Cooper gloated.

"Your mother's going to have a fucking cow."

"I know!" He giggled like a ten-year-old girl. "Did you actually mean any of that crap you fed him?"

"Well, I do believe she's accepted that he's gay."

"Yeah, that only took fourteen years."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why are you so happy about this?"

"Are you kidding? My perfect brother's hooking up with a sixteen-year-old student! It's about time I got a little of the parental high ground."

Lauren crossed her arms over her chest and gave him her sternest glare. "Okay, first, Kurt's his soulmate so it's hardly the same as hooking up -"

"We're talking about my parents, here. Has it ever mattered to them that you're my soulmate?"

"- and second, I have no idea where you get this idea that your parents love him more than you. I bet he'd say the exact opposite if you asked him."

"Please. 'Blaine's in college, Cooper.' 'Blaine's still in college, Cooper.' 'Blaine got his masters degree, Cooper.' Does anyone care that I star in the number two sitcom on the CW?"

"Of course they do. Don't be a baby."

He reached out quickly, taking her by surprise and pulling her by the wrist so that she collapsed on top of him. "I don't want you to go away," he pouted.

It was a blatant change of subject, but she went along with it because if there was one minefield she'd learned was better avoided it was the emotional dynamics of the Anderson family. Besides, he was wrapping his arms around her, running his hands up her back to tangle in her hair and tug so that her neck was exposed to his lips. And while there were many frustrating things about being married to Cooper Anderson, he did have beautiful arms and the world's deepest blue eyes and she loved him with every fiber of her being. And when he held her head like that and his lips just barely brushed the place behind her ear that gave her goosebumps all over her body, she really could forgive him anything. Even his mother.

"The car's coming . . ." she protested weakly when he pushed up against her and she could feel his dick getting hard.

"The car's coming in an hour and a half," he breathed in her ear, "and I know you're already packed so you have plenty of time to help me celebrate my new status as favorite Anderson son."

"They don't know yet. So technically it's still Blaine, according to you," she smirked.

His hands tightened in her hair. "Oh, I am so punishing you for that when you get back. Then, if you're very lucky, I'll allow you to blow the favorite son."

"I might be persuaded to do that now," she said, "since I'm all packed and everything."

"Oh no. You're in trouble. You don't deserve it now."

But she was already reaching for his fly and he was doing nothing to stop her.

"So, all in all I'd say it went pretty well."

"Really?" Kurt stretched pulled his duvet up to his chin and snuggled down into the pile of pillows he'd built under his head. "Because it sounds like your brother was kind of a jerk about it."

Blaine laughed. "That's just how Cooper is. No, it's good, actually, because he was being himself. If he was really freaked out he'd probably have been all nice to me and I'd be panicking right now."

"Well I'm very proud of you."

"Why?"

"Why?" Kurt repeated. "You told your brother. That can't have been easy. And you're not panicking."

There was silence for a minute, but it felt like a good silence. Kurt could almost see Blaine basking in even that little bit of praise. Sometimes he wanted to take a blowtorch to the family that had made Blaine think he didn't deserve such things.

"So what's next," he asked. "I think we've officially come out to everyone I know. What's left for you?" He knew exactly what was left, but he waited for Blaine to say it.

"I'm going to call my mom tomorrow," he said in a very small voice. "After school, I guess."

"I can come over for moral support, if you want," Kurt offered.

"Really?" The relief in Blaine's voice actually physically hurt Kurt.

"Yes, really. God, what do you think this is all about? It's not just sex and make outs in your office, you know." He lowered his voice because even though they'd said it before, it still made him feel flayed raw. It was hard to believe three little words could do that. "I love you, Blaine. It's my job to take care of you and help you feel strong."

"I wish you were here right now."

"Well survive your mother tomorrow and maybe we can fool around a little afterward. And then Friday night I'm all yours. And I got few tips tonight that I think we can try out." Kurt could feel himself blush a little even though there was no one there to see.

Blaine gasped. "Oh my God, dom class! Oh, I suck, I completely forgot! How was it?"

"It was really great, actually. I didn't expect it to be. The teachers were completely fine with us, I told them, after class, and they said they'd never had a claimed student before. It was a couple, he's the sub and she's the dom . . ."

They kept talking for more than an hour, each in his own bed, and in the little silences Kurt's mind sometimes touched on the things that connected them: love and need and destiny all wrapped up in electronic pulses that bounced from tower to tower through the air between them. And when they finally said goodbye he indulged in a little Blaine porn, wrapping his arms around his firmest pillow and rubbing his cheek against the nap of the pillowcase. If he let his mind drift enough it almost felt like soft curls brushing against his skin.


	4. Thursday

Margaret Anderson was most definitely not a smoker. Whenever she went to the doctor she didn't think twice about checking the "No" box on his little form. Because it was perfectly obvious that one cigarette a day did not a smoker make. One cigarette was nothing more that a little daily calming ritual and her one and only vice. Well, unless you counted the drink she invariably had before bed. Which she did, actually, although it certainly wouldn't have seemed like a vice to anyone else, because she knew how much she depended on it to quiet the voices in her head that always seemed to be loudest at the end of the day.

Her life, she thought as fetched a cigarette from the pack hidden in one of the many cubby holes under the dashboard of her car and carried it back into the house, hadn't quite turned out the way she'd planned. Not that she wasn't happy. Of course she was. Bill was still as much of a joy to her as the day they'd met. And her boys...well, they were independent and making their own ways in the world. No one's life was perfect, of course, but she was definitely happy.

In the kitchen she gathered up her paraphernalia - little Pyrex prep bowl full of water, yellow lighter, cigarette, her phones, both cell and house (because someone invariably called just as she was starting to lose herself in the nicotine buzz) - and made her way out to the sunny table on her back patio. In a ritual worthy of any heroin addict, she laid everything out carefully in predetermined places. But that didn't mean anything. She was a sub. She craved routine and created it for herself wherever she could. Besides it was one a day. She was pretty sure she'd die of old age before the cigarettes would have time to kill her.

She took her time, as she always did, settling into her chair, lifting the cigarette to her lips and pressing into the solidity of the filter, breathing in the fragrance of the tobacco. Then she flicked the lighter, pulled the soft, warm smoke of that first drag into her lungs and held it like a lover inside her body.

Who the hell was she kidding? She was a smoker. A one cigarette a day smoker, yes, but she needed that one cigarette as much as she needed to breathe. Her mother would be so disappointed.

Margaret had grown up on stories of her parents' grand passion. How her father had crossed continents and fought a war to find his soulmate. How her mother had braved danger and censure. But they had both been willing to risk everything, even their own lives, because they both had believed that true love was the most important thing in the world and Margaret grew up believing it too. As long as she could remember she had imagined her own grand adventures in finding her soulmate, late at night tucked up in her Cinderella sheets, and the day she'd had a name to put into the stories she made up - _William Anderson_ traced on the delicate skin inside her right wrist - had been one of the happiest days of her life.

As it happened, she didn't have to face down any obstacles at all to find Bill. They'd met after a concert in Chicago - the Rolling Stones - it had been raining and she'd slipped on a stray pamphlet someone had dropped in the parking lot and Bill had caught her as she fell. Very romantic by most normal standards, but Margaret Monaghan hadn't grown up with normal standards.

Still, if the finding had been bordering on ordinary, being with her soulmate and dom had been everything Margaret had ever imagined and she threw herself into it with all her strength. She and Bill had refused to wait - she was wearing a black cuff within a week and an engagement ring shortly after.

Cooper was born right away, Blaine much later, and as Bill's career took off and took him away from her so much of the time, Margaret threw herself into her boys with the same attitude of determined perfection that she'd had for her marriage. She loved them fiercely and guided them as best she could in the directions she thought were most likely to lead to their happiness.

But children grow up and leave you and no one tells you how impossible it will be to let go of them when you finally realize that they're the only mark you're ever going to leave on the world.

She tapped ash into the little bowl of water and watched it dissolve as she took another drag.

She had forgotten, somewhere along the way, that when her sons moved on into lives of their own she would still be fairly young, with a busy husband years away from retiring, and left in this big, quiet house, to try to occupy herself. Something she'd never really learned how to do. She'd been busy all her life, first as oldest sister to three brothers and later as mother and wife. There had never really been time for her to find out who she was, when she wasn't being defined by the people around her. And it seemed a little late to start working it out now.

So she meddled, she knew, in the boys' lives. Sometime she felt like an artist, sneaking into her patrons' houses in the dead of night to put still more finishing touches on her paintings. Because Cooper and Blaine were her masterpieces, the only things she would ever create from scratch, and if they weren't perfectly happy then she'd failed in the one and only job life had given her.

She knew Cooper was fine. She tinkered and advised and yes, she knew, criticized, but her efforts were more for her than for him. Cooper encountered life on his own terms and even (she sighed and sucked in another lungful of smoke) even with his tattooed ex-stripper soulmate he seemed to succeed at whatever he touched.

But Blaine. She'd made so many mistakes with Blaine. Not the least of which was figuring out that finding your soulmate shouldn't be the ultimate goal of your life much too late to stop herself from making him believe that it should.

Another drag and the buzz was starting, muffling unpleasant thoughts, at least for the few minutes it lasted. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. It was almost like that first slide into subspace, a little moment of chemically-induced silence. She turned herself over to the drug with the same sense of contentment that she turned herself over to Bill, when they had time to really play.

And, of course, the phone rang.

She dragged herself back to the surface with a petulant groan and leaned down to carefully stub the cigarette out on the concrete under her chair. She only got one cigarette; she always smoked it all. She set it next to the bowl of now cloudy water and reached for the phone.

_Blaine Anderson_, the block letters on the ID screen announced.

* * *

><p>Blaine hadn't been a planned child.<p>

Margaret had always wanted a large family, like her own, and Bill had hated being an only child, but their best laid plans were completely subverted as soon as Cooper made his appearance. Cooper was a force of nature - it took all of Margaret's energy just to try to keep up with him. And by the time he was older and in school and another baby was something Margaret could contemplate without feeling like it would put the labors of Hercules to shame, it was clear that Cooper wasn't in any way brother material. They had a good life, the three of them, and she and Bill reluctantly decided that the three of them was how it should stay.

But fate had other plans.

Margaret had cried when the little red dot had appeared in the window of the pregnancy test, silent tears of joy right there in the bathroom, caressing her flat belly where a tiny new life was hidden. Bill had been thrilled too, but Cooper, who had just turned eight, hated the baby even before Margaret's belly started to swell.

She dreamed of a girl. A sweet child with long, dark hair who could share all of her own romantic notions. They'd read fairy stories together, and sew princess dresses, and someday they'd shop together for a wedding dress and then baby clothes...much, much later she had to reassure herself that her longing for a girl couldn't have impacted tiny Blaine nestled inside her. All evidence said that children were born as they were, she told herself.

And Blaine was born perfect. Her first thought, when they handed him to her, red and wet and wriggling, and she stared down through the haze of exhaustion and pain - she always wondered how dominant women managed to survive childbirth, without a submissive's experience in surrendering to pain and the overwhelming efforts of the body, although her mother had certainly done it over and over again - her first thought had been _he looks like me._ Even as a newborn he had his father's riotous curls, plastered wet to his head, but below them she could see the shadow of her mother's face in his, even as she saw it in her own, and she offered her finger to his tiny, grasping fist and pressed him close to her heart.

Parents are supposed to love their children equally, and Margaret did - she would have thrown herself in the path of a bus for Cooper as quickly as she would have for Blaine - but there was no doubt that she and Blaine were kindred souls. He loved to watch her in the kitchen, sitting in his little high chair and staring with his huge, golden eyes that seemed to take in and understand everything. And as he grew he shared her love for romance, for music, and for his heritage. Cooper never had time for the past - his eyes were fixed so firmly on his own future - but Blaine loved to hear stories about his grandparents and Margaret never tired of telling them.

She'd tuck him up in his bed, and offer "Jack and the Beanstalk" or some other storybook but more often than not he'd beg her instead to tell him again how Omoeni wrapped her left wrist in a bracelet woven from sea grasses and walked out of her village toward a war to find her soulmate.

And so she would recite for him the story she'd heard from her own mother's lips so often: how Kyung Yu, at 15, cried the day her soulmate mark appeared on her left wrist, because after waiting so long to know the name of her destined love she found that she couldn't even read the strange, western letters imprinted on her skin. How she hid her secret so carefully from everyone in her family. How she despaired, knowing there was no way a girl in a tiny Korean fishing village would ever even meet a man from America or England or France. And then the guilt she felt when the war that so completely ravaged her country also planted a seed of hope in her heart that perhaps she might find her soulmate after all.

Blaine's favorite part was when Kyung Yu decided to take fortune into her own hands and leave her tiny village for the city of Busan, bustling with soldiers and refugees. He'd listen so raptly, eyes wide as saucers, to his grandmother's adventures in the city, and those beautiful eyes would sometimes brim with tears at the climactic moment when she found him, almost by accident, in an army machine shop, and he fell to his knees right there on the oil-stained floor and showed her her own name, in perfect Korean characters, on his wrist.

How could Cinderella's poor little glass slipper ever compare to that?

For years it went on, long past the age when most boys started pushing their mothers away, she'd sit on his bed and answer the questions that got more and more elaborate the older he got. They talked about Korea; planned fantasy visits to the places her parents had traveled, and for Blaine's thirteenth birthday, just weeks before his mark appeared and everything changed, she'd given him the slim red leather volume of translated Korean poems that his grandmother had given his grandfather on their first anniversary.

If there were parent/child soulmates, Margaret often thought, then Blaine was definitely hers.

But then his mark appeared.

He'd been so terribly young, that had been part of it. Barely thirteen, a time when most children were just beginning to flirt with ideas of who and how they'd love some day. But that name, on Blaine's right wrist, was such a sudden thrust into a grown-up world that none of them were ready for him to experience. Margaret often wondered if they'd ever had even a tiny chance of actually getting it right.

* * *

><p><em>"Mom, can I talk to you?"<em>

_It was the second night after Blaine's mark had appeared and Margaret was surprised when he called her into his room just as he was climbing into bed. Much as he loved his mom, Blaine was in full teenage privacy mode and she was rarely invited into the inner sanctum._

_"Of course." She settled on his bed, enjoying the feeling of being there again with her baby._

_And he was still her baby, despite the deep timbre of his voice or the brown leather cuff around his wrist._

_Blaine didn't smile, and his eyes were troubled. He seemed hesitant, which was strange. He'd never had trouble talking to her about anything before._

_"Can I tell you something? About my mark?" He waved his arm a little to make sure she understood what mark he was referring to._

_"Well, you shouldn't tell me the name," she said, still smiling, still so oblivious. "The name is your special secret, until you meet her."_

_But this only made Blaine's eyes seem cloudier, and he looked away, watching his own fingers as they played with the fabric of his comforter._

_"That's the thing." He took a deep breath and looked up at her and she was shocked to see fear in his eyes. He'd never been afraid to tell her anything and her brain was so busy groping for what could possibly be so terrible that she was not in any way prepared for his next words. Not that she ever would have been anyhow._

_"It's not a girl's name. It's a boy."_

_His voice was so low that she barely heard him over the noise in her own head and at first it didn't really register - it was the last thing she would have expected, something that she'd never even considered before. She opened her mouth and said the first thing that came into her head._

_"Oh honey, are you sure?"_

_And just like that, so obviously and quickly that panic pressed frantically in her chest, a wall went up; she saw him build it in an instant behind his eyes. She watched helplessly as, for the very first time, her baby judged her and found her inadequate._

_"No, Blaine, I just meant, some names are...you can't always tell. If it really is a boy then -"_

_"I don't want to talk about it any more." And he lay down, pulled up his navy comforter, and turned his face to the wall._

_"Honey, you just surprised me. I wasn't expecting it, that's all. Please talk to me. If it really is a boy's name we can figure it out together." She placed a hand on his shoulder and tugged just a little to try to get him to turn toward her, but he stiffened and refused to be budged._

_"There's nothing to talk about. I just want to go to sleep."_

_And it wasn't until then that it hit her that when Blaine said 'It's a boy' he wasn't as surprised as she was, he wasn't asking for her to help him understand why he didn't have a girl's name on his wrist. He wasn't surprised at all._

_He was coming out. He'd known already. He'd know and he'd been afraid to tell her - her - until the name on his wrist made it all concrete and inescapable. Twenty minutes ago she would have sworn she knew all there was to know about Blaine. She could barely comprehend how wrong she'd been._

_The thought was so huge and overwhelming and Blaine was so resolute in his rejection at that moment that Margaret stood up with a sigh and made for the door. He wasn't ready to hear her tonight. Anything she said would only make the chasm between them wider. Tomorrow, when everyone was calmer, she'd explain herself and he'd understand. He had to. It was Blaine. They always understood each other._

_"Mom?" She was just switching off the light when he called her name again._

_"Yes?" was all she dared say._

_"Don't tell Dad, okay?"_

_She didn't know what she should say. She wished desperately for her mother, long dead by then, to appear and tell her what was right. She was so afraid of hurting him even more than she already had. "Okay," she said, turning off the light and pulling the door closed behind her._

* * *

><p>She'd raged at fate so many times over the years. That she'd been so unprepared. That she'd been expected to pass a test she'd had no idea she was even taking. That she'd heard Blaine asking her to help him understand why his soulmate was a boy instead of understanding that he was telling her about himself, that he was gay. That she'd made herself complicit in his hiding, validating his desire instead of insisting that they sit down with Bill together and tell him because it wasn't anything that needed to be hidden. And that, after that, she'd let their lives be ruled by fear for so long.<p>

Because they didn't talk. The next morning Blaine had appeared at the breakfast table with a smile on his face but a warning in his eyes, and with Bill there between them making morning small talk, the secret sat like a leaden centerpiece and was resolutely ignored. And by the time Blaine came home from school that day Margaret had managed to convince herself that it was okay, Blaine was okay. He would come to her if he needed to and meanwhile she would show him through her actions that nothing had changed. Nothing was different. And when he decided it was time to come out to Bill, well, then she'd be prepared and say all the things she should have said the moment he told her his soulmate was a boy.

But he came out to Bill unexpectedly, in the middle of an argument, the kind teenage boys have with their fathers on a regular basis as they drag through the difficult task of learning to define themselves as separate entities. Margaret couldn't even remember what the argument had been about - she always tried to keep out of the way during their battles - but Bill must have said something about Cooper because even from the kitchen she heard Blaine shout, "But I'm never going to be Cooper, Dad! Because I'm a sub. And I'm gay! I'm a gay sub, Dad, so just be grateful that you have one real son and leave me alone!"

Then the front door had slammed and quiet reigned and Margaret was surprised to find herself on her knees on the floor. It had taken superhuman effort pull herself up and go into the living room to face her husband.

If Margaret had been doing a good job of pretending everything was normal, Bill raised it to an art form. They both ignored the fact that this made it easier for them, meant that they never had to say certain words out loud or face certain truths. Bill clung so strongly to the belief that the way to show Blaine that it didn't matter to them that he was gay was to never bring it up, never make it an issue, and treat Blaine exactly the way he'd treated Cooper when he was fourteen. Up to and including box seats at baseball games and building yet another car in the driveway. And Blaine played along, participated, smiled and acted the perfect son. And he never stopped. Even after the nightmare of the school dance where he'd been attacked. They all just pretended even harder, aggressively, that everything was fine, and Blaine transferred to Dalton and buttoned his shirts all the way to the top, kept his ties tight and straight, gelled his wild curls into perfectly controlled submission.

It was a perfect semblance of the perfect family but it was hollow and empty and nobody was happy but nobody seemed to know what to do about it. And every day Margaret longed for the beautiful, carefree boy with the manic energy who used to run into her arms and tell her he loved her with eyes that matched his smile. But every day she moved closer to accepting that that boy was never coming back again.

* * *

><p>She answered the phone on the third ring, as she always did, with a cheerful "Hello?" that she knew was an affectation in these days of caller ID. But she passionately hated when people answered her calls with "Oh, hey" or some other opening that telegraphed the fact that they already knew who was calling. It made her feel somehow at a disadvantage, and was something she refused to participate it.<p>

"Hi Mom, it's Blaine." He took after her so much more than he knew. Because "Hi Mom" would certainly have been enough.

"Hey honey," she made a concerted effort to keep all tension out of her voice. So many of Blaine's recent calls had been bad news: he was leaving school, he wanted to live alone in Lima instead of in his own home with them. "What's up?"

There was a bit of a silence and when Blaine spoke again his voice was just a little trembly. Which made Margaret's heart sink because nothing that made her son sound that way could be good.

"Um...I've got something to tell you. Something pretty big."

The afternoon air seemed to chill even as he spoke and Margaret got up, forgetting all about her smoking paraphernalia, and made her way back into the warmth of the house. "Okay. Something good, I hope?"

Blaine made a breathy sound that might have been an attempt at a laugh. "Well I think so. And I hope you will too." There was a long pause, she could hear him take several short breaths, then, "I found him, Mom. I found my soulmate."

Margaret had always thought "bursting into tears" was just a literary concept; not something that ever happened to anyone in the real world. But in less than an instant her throat closed impossibly tight, unbearable pressure filled her chest, and tears spilled from her eyes as if someone had turned on a faucet. She was choking on emotion that had slammed into her with no warning. She couldn't breathe; speech was out of the question.

"Mom?" Blaine asked after a moment's silence.

She struggled to say something, scrubbing at her face with her free hand, but she was so overwhelmed, and so desperate that he not know that she was crying, that nothing would come out, even as she screamed at herself to speak.

There was a stuttering sigh in her ear. "Oh, God, I knew this was a bad idea -"

"No!" she managed to choke. "Don't go, honey, please. I'm happy. I'm so happy for you, Blaine."

The dam in her chest broke with the words, but that meant that the sobs flowed more freely.

"Mom?" It was quiet this time. Wondering. Which only made her want to cry harder. He'd been so alone for so long, more alone than he ever should have been, thanks to her cowardice. She'd failed him in so many ways but now, now he had his soulmate. He'd never be alone. He'd finally, finally feel as loved as he deserved to be.

Breathe. Slow and deep she sucked air into her lungs. "Tell me about him, honey. Is he everything you've ever dreamed of?"

"He's perfect, Mom." She could hear the astonishment in his voice as he spoke, but she didn't care. Her baby was happy. "His name's Kurt - Kurt Hummel. He's beautiful and...well...there's something else I need to tell you, though."

Her throat spasmed again but she forced air through it. "Okay."

"It's just that he's...he's young, Mom. He's a lot younger than me."

"What does that mean?"

"He's almost...he's not quite seventeen."

Margaret's fingers closed around the edge of her granite countertop with crushing force and she viciously stifled the hysterical giggle that bubbled in her chest. Sixteen. Her twenty-seven-year-old son's soulmate, his _dom_, was sixteen.

God, when fate decided to slap you silly it certainly did it with style. Because for once in her life she could say anything she wanted. Any criticism would be justified. Blaine couldn't have blamed her or told her she was meddling. He certainly expected it. And there wasn't a therapist in the world who would have denied her right to ask Blaine what the hell he was thinking. He wouldn't be able to argue with a single point she might make.

But she knew if she did it she'd really lose him. Forever.

She forced her hand to relax against the cool stone and took a slow deep breath. "That must have -" She stopped herself. No. She wasn't going to put words in his mouth. She wasn't going to assume again. "I mean, how did you feel about that?"

"It...it was hard at first. I was really angry." His stammering betrayed his surprise, but he kept talking, and Margaret realized how very long it had been since he'd revealed any genuine feelings to her. "And I was scared and couldn't understand why I didn't deserve...something better, you know? But, Mom, he's everything. He really is. I'm so in love with him." He was still trying to convince her. Still expecting her to tell him it was wrong.

Slow, deep breaths. Margaret thought carefully. She weighed every word. She wasn't going to let herself fail this test. No matter how much it hurt. Losing Blaine wasn't an option. "Well that's...that's what matters, isn't it? Everything else can...everything else is just details." Slow. Deep.

She heard a little manic giggle from his end of the line and wondered if he might be feeling as close to hysteria as she did. They were so alike, after all. And that thought, after years of feeling so far from him, made her giggle as well, a tiny, identical sound.

He said something while she was laughing. "What did you say, honey?"

"Oh, no, I was just talking to Kurt. He wanted to make sure I was okay."

She knew immediately what she had to do, and her heart beat faster at the thought. "He's there?"

"He wanted to be with me when I called you. For moral support."

The roller coaster of her emotions plunged down again at the thought that Blaine felt that he needed moral support to talk to his own mother, but she forged ahead, ignoring her racing heart and twisting stomach.

"Can I speak to him? Would that be okay?"

There was another long, probably stunned silence on the line and then Blaine said, very precisely, "I'll ask him."

She could hear muffled voices, and a thump, and then, sooner than she expected, "Hello?"

Her hand clutched spasmodically at the edge of the counter again, and tears filled her eyes. It was a girl's voice. A little boy's voice. A voice that stabbed her with the reality that this was a child. A child into whose hands she was expected to entrust her own child's happiness and welfare without a single word of warning or even concern. But how could he possibly be able to live up to the task?

_Like you've been doing such a good job?_ a tiny voice in her head demanded.

"Hello Kurt. It's good to talk to you." She had to force herself not to speak as she would to a ten-year-old. Kurt was almost seventeen, despite his voice, and she wracked her brain to conjure up an image of Cooper at seventeen, filling out, muscled, not a little boy any more.

"It's good to talk to you too, Mrs. Anderson."

She could hear it then - high and boyish as his voice might be, she could hear confidence in its tone. More confidence, if she was being honest, than she'd heard in Blaine's. Which was right, she told herself, because Kurt was dominant. She focused on the visual reference of teenaged Cooper again.

"I just wanted to tell you myself how happy I am that Blaine found you. He was alone for a long time and it was so hard for him. He...he's so special. He deserves so much. But I'm sure you already know that."

"I do," Kurt said simply.

"And you'll take care of him, won't you? And...love him."

"I promise I will." Kurt's voice strong and definite. "We'll take care of each other."

"Thank you, Kurt," was all she could get out before her throat started to close again.

"Well, I'll let you talk to him again," Kurt said after a moment's silence.

She managed a second "Thank you," then almost immediately Blaine was back.

"Mom?"

"He sounds lovely honey. He also sounds ten. You'd better send me a picture of him so I don't get too panicky."

Blaine, thank God, understood and laughed, a bright and happy sound that she hadn't heard in years. "You really want a picture?"

"Of course I do. I want a picture of both of you. And you have to promise me you'll bring him home soon so we can meet him."

"Mom, I...thank you." His voice broke over the words, and her heart broke at the same time, because she'd taught him to expect so little from her.

"Honey, I know you had to learn that your parents weren't perfect in about the worst way possible -"

"It's okay -"

"No, please, let me finish." She took yet another deep breath, but she was starting to feel stronger, the extremes of emotion were settling, so she knew this must be right. "I failed you in so many ways, Blaine. I don't think I even know all the ways I failed you. But I promise you, your dad and I never stopped loving you or wanting you to be happy."

"He makes me happy, Mom. I never even dreamed that I could be this happy."

When had she taught her romantic boy to be so careful with his expectations? She swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. "Well that's all that matters. It's your life, and you have to live it for you, Blaine. Not for anybody else."

"You know, you should probably tell Cooper that sometime too."

She smiled at that. "I'll take that under advisement."

He laughed again, bright and honest, and she felt like it had been years since she'd heard him sound so free.

She heard Kurt's voice in the background again, then Blaine said, "Kurt can't stay for much longer, so..."

"No, it's fine honey. Just promise me you'll call soon, okay?"

"I promise. And Mom...? Would you tell Dad for me?"

Margaret's breath caught in her throat, but she forced it out. This wasn't a test, not any more. Blaine knew who he was now. There weren't any more trick questions.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" she asked. "We can call you back when he gets home and you can tell him yourself. I know he'll be happy for you."

"It's okay. I don't get much time with Kurt during the week, so I'm really fine with you telling him. And I promise I'll call this weekend."

Of course he didn't get much time with Kurt. She pushed thoughts of homework and sports team practices and curfews out of her head; there would be time for questions about Kurt's parents' reaction and how they were managing to be together at all, and what their plans were. Right now she needed to let it be. She needed to leave him with nothing but her support.

So with mutual I love you's that sounded truly sincere for the first time in almost as long as she could remember, they said their goodbyes.

And then she fell into a chair and cried, freely, unsure really if her tears were from sadness or joy or relief, or some combination of the three. And pretty sure it didn't really matter.

* * *

><p>The last time Margaret saw her mother - at least, the last time while she still <em>was<em> her mother, with all of her faculties intact - was when her parents came to celebrate Cooper's 16th birthday and his marking, which had happened only weeks before. Kyung Yu knew she was sick, but she hadn't told anyone and she'd forbidden her husband to say anything either. She'd wanted, he told Margaret later, to have a last happy visit with her only daughter.

The moment that was burned in Margaret's memory forever was when she came upstairs the night of the party to put seven-year-old Blaine to bed, only to hear her mother's voice coming from his room. She'd stopped short of the door, hidden there listening to their conversation.

"Is it better to be a dom than a sub, Omoeni?" Blaine had asked, pronouncing the Korean word perfectly just as he'd been taught.

"Why would you say that, jagiya?" Her mother's voice was always soft but the foundation of strength was undeniable.

"Mom always says you were lucky that you were marked as a dom," Blaine said in his small, quiet voice. Margaret slid silently down the wall until she was sitting on the floor.

"Oh, but that's only because of the way things were in my country at that time. In Korea then, submissive children had to show their marks to their parents. And then their parents would seek out their dominant and decide if it was a good match. If I'd been submissive my parents would have known that my soulmate wasn't Korean, and maybe they'd have tried to keep me from him. But since I was dominant I was safe." There was a short pause before she spoke again. "The person I love most in the world is submissive. So no, I don't think it's better to be one or the other. If we didn't have both, what kind of world would this be?"

"Were you sad when your mark appeared?" Blaine persisted.

"Well, I was very surprised. And also afraid, because I couldn't imagine how I'd ever manage to find him. And I suppose I was a little sad. It was hard not to be able to read the words and know his name."

Blaine gave a tiny sigh, and Margaret imagined her mother must be stroking his hair. He always loved that.

"I used to sit in my window at night," her mother continued, "and look at the letters in the moonlight and make up stories about them. I thought that maybe they were pictures, so I tried to guess things about my soulmate from the shapes they made. One was the shape of the veins on the back of a leaf-"

"V?" Blaine guessed.

"Yes. I imagined that meant that my soulmate would be tender and gentle like leaves blowing in the breeze. And another was tall and jagged like mountains-"

"M!"

"And that meant he would be strong and faithful. Or that I'd have to cross mountains to find him, which I very much hoped wasn't the case. And then there was one that was like a big fat man."

"That was D," Blaine said confidently.

"Yes, and I was a young, romantic girl so I hoped very much that the fat man was my soulmate's father or uncle. But I also knew that if it was him, then I would find him perfect even if he was as round as letter D."

"Because your soulmate is always perfect for you in every way." It was a foregone conclusion for Blaine, even at the age of seven.

"That's right. Completely perfect. So I fell in love with the completely perfect shape of his name, but I didn't know what that name sounded like until I went to Busan and met a missionary's daughter - your Auntie Nessie."

"And she told you!"

"Yes. And eventually I found him, when I was delivering papers for her father to one of the officers in the motor shop."

"What did you do when you saw him?" Blaine's voice was breathless and Margaret knew that anticipation so well. This really was the best part of the story.

"Well, I had just given the papers to the officer, and I turned around and there behind me was the tallest man I'd ever seen. He looked up just as I turned, and he stood so still, staring at my necklace."

Margaret knew that her mother was now touching the necklace she always wore, the one she'd had made when she first arrived in Busan, with her name painted on a pale wooden plaque in ink that was once stark black, but had long since faded gray.

"I knew in an instant that it was him. And he recognized my name as easily as I recognized part of his on the patch on his shirt. He looked so shocked and surprised and I'm sure I looked just the same to him! Then he said my name - _Ha Kyung Yu_ - in perfect Korean. And I said his -_Devon Monaghan_ - in much less perfect English. But I was happy and proud to think that he'd worked so hard to learn to say my name exactly."

"Then he knelt, right?" Blaine asked breathlessly. Margaret smiled at how caught up he could get even after endless retellings.

"Yes, and he was so tall that even on his knees we were almost face-to-face. And people were staring at us but we didn't care at all. He was all I could see. Then I gave him my very first command - _eul boyeo_ - which is like 'show me.' It's what a dominant says to command a submissive to show his mark. Of course, it was a terrible mistake to tell him to show me his mark in front of everyone like that, but he did it anyhow, and the other soldiers were kind enough to look away."

"And then you showed him your mark and you lived happily ever after," Blaine finished for her, and Margaret could hear the rustle of his sheets as he wriggled in that happy way he had.

"Well, it wasn't quite so simple, back then," her mother chuckled, "but yes. Here we are. Happy ever after. And now you must go to sleep jagiya. It's been a long and exciting day."

The bed creaked as Kyung Yu stood up and there was more rustling of bedcovers.

"I love you, Omoeni," Blaine said, his voice soft and sleepy.

"I love you too, beautiful Blaine," Kyung Yu said quietly.

When her mother appeared in the doorway she smiled to see Margaret sitting there on the floor listening. "He looks at me exactly as you did when I used to tell you that story," she said, coming to sit beside her daughter.

Margaret leaned her head against her mother's shoulder. "I worry about him, Oma," she said quietly, making sure Blaine couldn't hear them from inside his room.

"Why do you worry? He's a perfect child."

Margaret sighed and fished for the right words to explain. "He's just so...he needs so much. I knew Cooper would be a dom, but even if he'd been marked sub, I never would have worried about him. He's never going to accept less than everything from his life."

Kyung Yu chuckled and her shoulder shook under Margaret's cheek.

"But if Blaine's a sub - and he will be, I know he will - he's so open and giving. What if he can't protect himself, his heart, out there in the world? Or what if he's disappointed and builds up defenses that his soulmate can't break through? There are so many ways that he could be hurt, Oma."

Kyung Yu moved a little to wrap an arm around her daughter. "It's a little early to worry about those things, don't you think?"

"He's my baby," Margaret said, as if that explained everything.

"Well, if his needs are deep, then his soulmate will be deep as well. The more he needs protecting, the stronger she'll be. And if there are walls, she'll know exactly how to break them down. That's how it works, Maggie."

"You really believe that?"

"Do you have to ask?" She turned and pushed Margaret back a little so she could look into her eyes. "When your father's name appeared on my wrist I thought that any dream I'd ever had of being with my soulmate had been crushed forever. But here we are." She smiled and lifted her chin in the direction of Blaine's room. "His soulmate will be just exactly what he needs to get through this life in perfect happiness. Just as your father is for me and as Bill is for you. As Cooper's soulmate will be for him. Fate is never wrong."

_Fate is never wrong._ Margaret's phone chimed, pulling her out of the memory. She opened the text to find Blaine's face looking up at her, and while she certainly noticed the other person in the picture, the achingly young man with elfin features that seemed almost at odds with his confident gaze, it was Blaine's eyes that riveted her. He was about to cry - she could tell he was holding back just long enough to snap the picture - but he was open and present and _there_ in a way that she hadn't seen since before he'd been marked. They were the eyes she'd seen when he'd run to her after a fall or a broken toy or some other great childhood disappointment. Eyes that said that even as he despaired, he trusted that you could make it better.

She knew those eyes were not for her. They were for Kurt now, for the boy who had his cheek pressed to Blaine's temple in the photo. But that was, as her mother would say, as it should be.

She texted back quickly - _he's beautiful_ - then made her way back out onto the porch to finish her one cigarette.

* * *

><p>Kurt held Blaine as he cried, laid out on the bed, his shirt pushed up around his chest so that Blaine could press his face to the soft skin of Kurt's stomach and let it soak up his mostly silent tears. He stroked Blaine's hair and down his back and waited, patiently, for the storm of emotion to pass.<p>

"They don't hate me," Blaine said finally, as the tears began to subside.

"Of course they don't. They're your parents. How could they hate you?"

Blaine looked up then, eyes still damp, and pushed himself further up the bed until they were lying face-to-face on the pillows. He slid his hand into Kurt's and squeezed tight. "When I was fourteen, there was this dance at my school."

"Dance?" Kurt asked. The shift in topic confused him, but Blaine looked so serious that he just stroked his thumb along the back of Blaine's hand and waited for him to go on.

"I was out then. Barely. So I asked a friend of mine to go with me. He was gay too."

Kurt held his breath. He had enough experience to know that stories like this never had happy endings.

Blaine shifted a little to pillow his head on Kurt's chest, smoothing his shirt back down into place.

"After the dance, we were waiting for his dad, and some guys started harassing us. Just verbally, at first, but then...not." The hand that was clasped in Kurt's tightened even more. "I just remember being really scared, and lots of noise, loud voices. Streetlights too bright in my eyes when I was on the ground. And pain. Somebody called the police and an ambulance came and took us to the hospital. I was okay. Wyatt - that was my friend - his arm was broken. But I just had a lot of bruises and a cracked rib."

Kurt gasped a little, surprised by how much a story from long ago could tug at his need to protect Blaine. "A cracked rib isn't 'okay,' Blaine. I'm so sorry that happened to you."

"But, I mean, the point," Blaine rushed on, "is that after they taped me up I went out to find my parents. They were in a waiting room. They didn't see me in the door at first. My dad was crying - I'd never seen him cry in my life. And I...God, Kurt, I was _happy_. Happy that I'd gotten beaten up. Because if my dad was crying about me being hurt, then that must mean he really did love me, right?"

Kurt just waited, silently.

"But then he said to my mom, 'This wouldn't have happened if he wasn't gay.' And I realized that he wasn't crying because I was hurt. It was because I was gay. And as far as he was concerned, me getting beaten up was my own fault, I guess. Because I was gay."

Blaine nuzzled his face into Kurt's neck, still clutching at his hand, and Kurt gave him a moment before he pulled away a little.

"Look at me, Blaine."

Blaine raised his head obediently.

"It _wouldn't_ have happened if you weren't gay."

Blaine's eyes widened.

"But saying that," Kurt said, "isn't the same as saying that it was your fault that it happened. Did you ever call him out on it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you ever ask him what he meant? Or tell him how much it hurt you when he said that?"

Blaine stared at Kurt as if he'd said something particularly sacrilegious.

"After I came out," Kurt said, "sometimes my dad would say the wrong thing, or I would, but we'd always call each other on it, you know? I guess, with just the two of us, we couldn't really afford to misunderstand each other."

"But weren't you scared?"

"Of what?"

Blaine shrugged, and tried to hide in Kurt's neck again, but Kurt pulled him back up and held his face close, forcing him to make eye contact. "What were you afraid of, Blaine?"

"I...I guess that if I talked about it too much or rocked the boat, that they'd just come out and say it. That they were disappointed. That they wished I was different." Blaine's cheeks flushed pink, but still Kurt held his head up. "It was hard enough to know they thought it. I couldn't have taken hearing them say it."

Kurt let go then; let Blaine settle back against his chest with his arm wrapped around Kurt's waist. He hated so much that Blaine's parents had somehow made him feel like their love was conditional and finite. He stroked gentle fingers up and down Blaine's spine.

"I wasn't afraid," he said, "because I knew there was nothing I could do or say that would ever make my dad stop loving me. And he knew it to, about me. I don't know why you and your parents didn't have that, Blaine. I know there are true idiots out there, but I think most parents love their kids and they just want them to be happy. Somehow your family got itself all tied up in knots. But your mom's trying to fix it, right?"

Blaine's head nodded against Kurt's chest.

"Well then don't make the same mistakes again. Tell her if she screws up and let her know you love her anyway. And maybe she'll do the same thing for you."

The hand on Kurt's waist slid slowly up his body, over his chest, along the length of his neck, until it reached his jaw and Blaine picked his head up to watch it.

"She said you were beautiful."

"What?" Kurt asked, distracted by the fingers caressing his skin.

"When I sent my mom our picture she texted back that you were beautiful. And she has no idea how right she was." Blaine stretched up and pressed tiny kisses along Kurt's jaw, then sucked gently at the point of his chin before tilting his head higher, begging silently to be kissed.

Kurt teased him just a little with barely-there brushes against his lips, but then kissed him in earnest, falling into his mouth in that perfect way that he never got tired of. Soon Blaine was gasping and moaning and making those little jerks with his legs that Kurt had only recently figured out meant he was struggling not to grind his erection against Kurt's body.

Kurt loved how easy it was to work Blaine up after only a few days of denial. He pushed off the bed and rolled them over so that he was on top, still kissing, and pressed his pelvis against Blaine's with wicked little rolls that pulled glorious whimpers from Blaine's throat.

"You get that I love you more than anybody has ever loved anybody in the history of the world, right?" Blaine asked between kisses.

Kurt pulled back a little and frowned down at him. "I think Romeo and Juliet might argue with that."

Blaine shook his head. "Fictional couples don't count."

"Anthony and Cleopatra?"

"An epic love, but nope. We still win."

"The Obamas?"

Blaine laughed. "Not even close." He slid one hand down and over Kurt's ass while the other came up to stroke his face again. "You're just going to have to accept that you're one half of the greatest love story of all time."

Kurt giggled and rolled his hips a few more times, until Blaine was properly speechless again. Then he leaned down and whispered against Blaine's ear.

"I can live with that."


	5. Friday

2:56 p.m.

Blaine had made two full circuits of the classroom, looking over the groups of sophomores outlining their American Revolution projects, offering helpful hints, not at all rushing, and yet the hands of the clock seemed not to have moved even a fraction of an inch from the last time he'd looked. They were no closer to 3:14 than they'd been before he started his rounds.

It was probably a little unseemly, he thought as he wandered back to his desk and sat down in the hard wooden chair, that the teacher was even more anxious for school to end than his students. But with just eighteen minutes to go – no, seventeen, the minute hand finally jerked its way over one line - until his first full weekend with Kurt he was going to cut himself a little slack.

It had certainly been one of the strangest weeks of his life and nothing like what he'd expected when Kurt had ordered him to take off his cuff in Figgins' office on Monday. Yes, he'd had to face shocked whispers and sidelong looks, but he'd also made a firm ally in Emma, endured the kind of teasing that meant Cooper wasn't really freaked out at all, and somehow managed to start communicating with his parents, which was a ship he'd thought had sailed a long time ago.

It was different for Kurt. While most of the adults were unexpectedly accepting of their situation, Kurt's friends couldn't quite seem to wrap their brains around one of their own dating a teacher. With only a few exceptions they were awkward and subdued around Kurt, and Blaine knew Rachel hadn't spoken more than casual in-passing words to him since Monday. She was uncharacteristically quiet in Blaine's class too, taking notes, never raising her hand and only looking at Blaine if it couldn't be avoided.

But while Kurt still had issues to work out, Blaine often wondered what the hell he'd been so afraid of. Any unpleasantness created by unsupportive co-workers was completely offset by the - _Kurtness_ was the only way to say it - of his life now. The morning make-outs over coffee, the brief moments of perfect connection when they'd glimpse each other across a crowded hallway, the teasing gropes behind his office door and late-night whispered phone conversations - they all combined to keep Blaine buzzing with arousal and anticipation that, far from being a distraction, seemed to make everything sharper and clearer. Colors were brighter and he felt full of energy and focus. The need he felt in his body translated into a sense of belonging - to Kurt, to himself, to the idea of what they were together. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Blaine felt complete.

Which isn't to say that he wasn't desperately horny. His body was so intensely responsive to Kurt that the minute his office door closed behind them at lunch or after school he was hard, straining against the restraint of his fly and aching to touch and be touched. He could tell that Kurt loved having the power to reduce the composed history teacher to a moaning puddle of submissive goo just by turning the lock. And the dom/sub feedback loop between them meant that the more turned on Kurt got the more desperate Blaine became. It was so automatic that Blaine was pretty sure he could get hard if he just sat and stared at his office door long enough.

Which was not the thought he should be having when Trudy Vashro was coming up to ask him a question.

Blaine clarified the steps of the assignment for Trudy then glanced at the clock again.

3:01.

Maybe it was broken. Blaine pulled his cell phone out of his pocket but it, too, showed him 3:01. He sighed and shoved it back. Of course time would be crawling the one time he wanted it to fly.

Time was usually the only thing Blaine felt like he was lacking. Time to wrap himself up in Kurt, to explore him and discover exactly how to touch and kiss and move to make Kurt gasp those tiny, oh so hot sounds he made in the back of his throat. Time to make Kurt come, over and over, harder than any dom had ever been made to come before. Kurt's orgasm seemed so fundamentally necessary to Blaine that he could and did spend hours at home at night fantasizing about ways to do it - with his mouth, his hands, other body parts - and trying to figure out some way to get Kurt to let him do it at school. Not being allowed to come all week was nothing, for Blaine, compared to not being able to make Kurt come.

But today was finally, finally Friday. Kurt had glee club, then there was family dinner - out at a restaurant because wonderful Carole had decided they should celebrate Blaine's first dinner with something special (and he was certain she wasn't unaware of the fact that you couldn't linger in a restaurant the way you could at home) - and then he had two whole nights and days of Kurt all to himself. Just the thought left Blaine breathless; it felt almost obscene. Forty-eight hours to indulge themselves in talking and touching and kissing and sex and, even more importantly, second only to getting to make Kurt come on Blaine's priority list, two full nights of Kurt in his bed, warm and naked and casually dominant in that moment-to-moment way that Blaine was pretty sure Kurt wasn't even aware of being. He'd tried very hard not to have expectations, because Kurt was in charge and he knew he needed to be okay with whatever Kurt wanted, but he'd definitely been indulging in fantasies of being kept naked all weekend, serving Kurt's every desire, kneeling patiently at his feet while his own body ached. He desperately wanted to find that place where the only thing he had to think about was Kurt.

3:07.

Seven more minutes. Blaine knew he should be paying better attention to what was going on in the classroom, but the students were all engrossed in the work he'd given them and it was their first weekend, so he let himself drift a little in the soft bubble of anticipation that was starting to form around him. Kurt was going to be performing in glee club again today and he'd asked Blaine to come and watch. The idea of having to sit there and simply watch Kurt as he talked and laughed and sang, unable to touch him, with the promise of their weekend so tantalizingly close was going to be delicious hell. He wondered if Kurt would find silent ways to tease him like he'd done in Blaine's history class. His stomach tightened at the thought.

3:10

Close enough. "Okay, great work today, everybody, you can start to put your things away. Don't forget that I expect your detailed outlines on Monday." He stood up and started stuffing his own things into his bag.

"That is so unfair! Why do teachers hate weekends?" he heard someone mutter over the general din of students minutes from liberty.

"Because they envy our youth and freedom and need to squash it out of us," came a reply.

"Please. It's one outline," someone else said. "If that ruins your weekend then your weekend was pretty lame to begin with."

"I have plans! Did you know there's going to be . . ."

But Blaine didn't hear what there was going to be because at that moment the blessed bell finally rang and the teenage stampede barreled for the door. It was all he could do not to shove them all aside and be the first one out.

The choir room, of course, was completely empty when he arrived and Blaine couldn't help laughing at his own eager rush. Clearly not everyone was a denied and frustrated sub eager for a glimpse of his dom. Normal people probably had things to do - locker visits, bathroom breaks, making plans with friends - before they were ready to settle into their after school activities. It was probably a very good thing that it was Friday, he thought as he wandered into the room. He didn't need to be any more pathetic than he already was.

The choir room was big and bright and Blaine could imagine Kurt there, totally at home among the scattered instruments, shining trophies, and shelves full of sheet music and pictures and bits of costumes and props. It was a room full of possibilities. A room where things were created and anything was possible if you could name it and give it shape. Kurt belonged in a place like this. He'd once told Blaine that glee club was sometimes the only thing that had kept him sane, and standing there in the room Blaine could understand that. The only definitions were ones you created yourself.

The seats were arranged in rows on risers and Blaine stared at them, wondering which place Kurt usually took. Sitting down front would put him at the center of attention, ready to jump up when it was his turn to perform. But from the back he could really make an entrance, sweeping dramatically down the steps at his own pace and drawing out the anticipation as long as he could. Blaine smiled. He knew exactly what his Kurt would choose. He headed up the steps toward a chair in the very back corner.

"Blaine?"

Blaine started at the unexpected voice and turned. Will Schuester was standing in the doorway, his face pulled into a frown. He looked distinctly unhappy and Blaine felt a little guilty, like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. Which was ridiculous. Kurt had asked him to come, it was just a rehearsal, and Will was just a fellow teacher and sub. There shouldn't be any power dynamic between them.

"Can I help you with something?"

So why did it feel very much like there was? So much so that Blaine took an involuntary step forward before he stopped himself. "Kurt asked me to meet him here. He wants me to see him sing." He smiled in what he hoped was a conspiratorial way - after all they were both subs subject to the whims of their doms - and turned to continue up the steps.

"Actually," Will's voice behind him seemed louder than it needed to be in the empty room, "I'm not okay with that."

Blaine took a second to control the surprise he was sure would show on his face before he turned back to Will. "You're not okay with me watching? Because Kurt said -"

"Kurt should have checked with me before he asked you."

It wasn't an unreasonable idea, but in Blaine's current state the thought that Kurt should have to ask permission - from a sub, no less - for anything to do with _them_ sent something sharp and hot spiking through Blaine's belly and he had to concentrate to keep his hands from clenching into fists before he could speak again. "Kurt said you have visitors all the time."

"Visitors I approve." Clearly confident that settled the matter, Will turned his back on Blaine and began to take materials out of his bag and arrange them on top of the piano.

"And you don't approve of me?"

Will continued to arrange sheets of music, not even bothering to look up at Blaine. "It's not a matter of approving _of_ you," he said casually. "We have regionals in two weeks. The kids need to focus without distractions."

"I'm just going to sit in the back and watch." Blaine tried to keep his tone as light as Will's. "No distraction at all, I promise. I'll even leave as soon as Kurt's done."

Will finally turned back to him. "This shouldn't be a big deal, Blaine. I can't let you stay today. I've asked you to leave and I'd appreciate if you did it before the kids get here."

Blaine wasn't sure if Will was being deliberately obtuse or if maybe his relationship with Emma didn't include her giving him commands, but on some level he had to understand that there was no way Blaine could disobey Kurt to comply with another sub. "I can't. Kurt told me to meet him here."

Two students sauntered through the door - Noah Puckerman and a blonde girl in a Cheerio uniform with a jaunty, bouncing ponytail. "Hey Mr. A!" Noah grinned at Blaine as they passed on their way to the back of the room.

The girl was chatting away to Noah so Blaine moved closer to Will and spoke quietly. "You know I can't just leave. We have to wait for Kurt." He searched Will's face for some kind of understanding. Will had to know what a command from a soulmate meant, even if he and Emma weren't officially bonded.

Will glanced quickly at the two kids sitting with their heads together at the back of the room then turned his attention back to Blaine. "You don't even understand how wrong that statement is, do you?"

Whatever Will saw in Blaine's face obviously wasn't what he wanted to see because he gave an exaggerated sigh and grabbed Blaine's upper arm to pull him closer to the wall and further from the students. "We're both teachers at this school, Blaine. This is my classroom. I'm in charge here. But you're telling me that I can't ask you to leave my classroom without getting permission from a student first."

"It's not about permission -"

"So now a child is in control of my class because he happens to be your dom." Will's stare was intense and Blaine realized that he was angry. Really angry. "And what else will Kurt end up in charge of because of this? Do you not see how many ways this could go wrong? What you do in your bedroom is your business, I guess -" Blaine felt himself blush hot at that, "- and Emma's right, I'm not Kurt's father so it's not up to me to decide what's appropriate for him outside these walls, but here at school we're the adults. We're the teachers. I absolutely get to decide what's appropriate in this room, and Kurt doesn't get any more of a vote than any other student."

Another student wandered in, Finn, Blaine remembered. He stopped abruptly when he saw Blaine was there, with a deer in headlights look that would have been comical in almost any other situation. Blaine tried to smile at him but Finn turned and hurried to the back of the room and the safety of his teammates so Blaine turned back to Will.

"So this doesn't have anything to do with regionals, does it?" he asked. "You just don't think Kurt and I are appropriate."

"We're trying to get these kids to be mature. Responsible. To teach them that there's more to life than . . . soulmates and hormones." Will jerked his head in the direction of the three students. "Did you know Noah Puckerman is a father? He and Quinn Fabray had a baby last year. Sixteen years old."

Blaine couldn't help looking at Noah then, and the other kids. Finn must have said something because all three of them were looking at him and Will huddled by the white board whispering to each other. He could feel the pressure of their awareness like something physical bearing down on him. He felt trapped there by the students' attention and Will's sincerity.

Because Will was most definitely sincere. Blaine may not have liked what he was saying but there was no denying his genuine concern for his students.

"These kids have so much pressure to be sexual, and they never think about the consequences," Will said. "And if I let you sit here with Kurt's cuff on your wrist, that's as good as telling them that I think it's perfectly fine for a sixteen-year-old to bond himself to his teacher. They're already putting their hormones ahead of everything else. Most of the time I feel like I'm fighting the current as hard as I can just to stay in the same place. I may not be able to do anything about your choices, but I won't support them."

"He's my soulmate, Will. I waited . . ." Will wasn't his friend, much less his confidante, but Blaine felt an overwhelming need to explain, to justify the happiness he'd been feeling just five minutes ago at the thought of his time alone with Kurt.

"And you couldn't have waited - what? Another year and a couple of months? Until he graduated? What kind of normal high school experience can Kurt have now? Is he going to be spending his weekends at the mall with all his friends, or holed up in your apartment? You've pushed him into this adult world that he's not ready for, Blaine. And he shouldn't have to be."

"This is what he wanted . . ."

"Yeah, well, he may be the dom, but you're the adult. You could have acted like one."

And the worst thing was that Will was right. They could have waited. They both chose not to, and they had good reasons for that. Blaine didn't regret them but he knew exactly what Kurt was giving up by being with him and it hurt to have Will put it out there so baldly. He couldn't even bring himself to argue any more. Even if he managed to convince Will, there would always be more Wills lined up behind him ready to pass judgment. And no amount of wishing for compassion and understanding was going to change that fact.

"I've asked you to leave," Will said, his attention back on his class materials. "You can wait for Kurt outside."

Blaine bowed his head a little and was just opening his mouth to acquiesce when Kurt finally came through the door with yet another blonde cheerleader. He wasn't talking to her, though. His eyes were dark and his lips tight, and Blaine wondered if it was possible that he'd heard any of his and Will's conversation. He certainly didn't look like the same boy who'd been so excited about singing for him earlier that day. He stopped next to the piano. "What's going on?" he asked in a voice loud enough that the other students dropped any pretense of not listening. The cheerleader drifted away to a seat as Will once again looked up from his materials.

"Kurt, you need to clear it with me before you invite someone to observe rehearsals."

Kurt ignored him. "What's going on, Blaine?"

More students drifted in behind Kurt and Blaine was suddenly painfully aware that a few of them were his students and the last thing he wanted was for any of them to witness a pissing contest between Kurt and Will to see who got to tell him what to do.

"Umm," he hedged, "Will asked me -"

"Mr. Schuester," Will corrected sharply without taking his eyes off Kurt.

"Mr. Schuester," he said, "asked me not to watch class today." Kurt's expression betrayed no surprise. "And I've got papers I can grade, so why don't I just meet you after?"

He stared at Kurt and let his eyes drift very slightly in the direction of the students lined up on the risers. _Not in front of everyone_, he tried to signal. _Please._

But Kurt wasn't in a receptive mood, apparently. He took a deep breath and turned his attention to Will. "You're right. I should have asked. I'd like for Blaine to stay so he can watch me sing." Kurt's voice was light, but Blaine noticed he wasn't actually asking a question.

"And I've already told Mr. Anderson that I don't think the glee club needs that kind of distraction right now. So I'm sorry, but I have to say no."

Kurt pressed his lips together in the way that Blaine already knew meant he was struggling with his self-control. "It's okay, Kurt," he placated, "I can watch another time, when it's not so crazy."

Blaine held his breath as Kurt looked from him to Will for a long moment. The choir room had gone completely silent and more than anything now Blaine just wanted out.

Then Kurt's bag hit the floor with a thud, right there in front of the white board. "Follow me," he commanded then turned around and strode for the door without looking back.

Blaine followed, cheeks burning, and Will called out a "Kurt, you're performing today" but Kurt ignored him and kept walking.

The halls were mostly deserted, thank God, and Blaine lengthened his stride to get as close to Kurt as he could and still be considered to be following. He knew he should just obey, follow, as Kurt had said, but it was their weekend. Not twenty minutes ago he'd been happy, so fucking grateful for his forty-eight hours of uninterrupted Kurt time and he wanted that back, damn it, that sense of well-being, so close to being able to let go and lose himself in his lover.

"Kurt, please, I don't think this is really a big deal." He was already panting a little; his shorter legs had to work harder to keep up with Kurt's long strides. Kurt didn't look back, just kept walking fast down the empty hallway.

Blaine pushed closer and risked a look around Kurt's shoulder to try to get his attention. "We knew this could happen," he reasoned. "We may not like it, but Mr. Schuester has the right -"

At "Mr. Schuester" Kurt stopped so abruptly that Blaine stumbled into him and would have fallen but for Kurt's sudden hard grip on his upper arms. His blue eyes flashed dark and dangerous and in one swift move he had Blaine pinned against the lockers closest to them. He was breathing hard too, but Blaine didn't think it was from walking fast. He didn't understand what was driving Kurt, or why those eyes were searching his so intensely. Instinctively, he pressed his hands to the lockers above his head in a gesture of surrender and, when Kurt still didn't move, lowered his eyes to the floor.

As if his submissive posture was a signal, Kurt pounced, diving down to press his mouth hard against Blaine's, sucking fiercely at his lips. He was angry, Blaine finally realized with a jolt. More than angry, Kurt was furious, furious with him, and he had no idea why. Because he'd spoken when he was supposed to be following? But Kurt hadn't told him not to speak. Because he'd volunteered to leave the rehearsal?

Kurt's breath was harsh against Blaine's cheek and his mouth was relentless, nipping and biting at Blaine's lips. His hand slid up the side of Blaine's face and gripped his hair until all Blaine could do was whimper against the pain. He was starting to feel trapped and although this was Kurt at his most dominant, it all felt wrong. There was nothing sensual about it. No sense of them. Blaine held his arms still against the urge to push Kurt away, but he sucked in a deep lungful of air and pushed his chest out as far as he could to try to create some space between them.

An extra-sharp bite at his lower lip had Blaine crying out and he finally twisted his head away from the onslaught. Kurt's hand in his hair tightened, pulling his head back hard against the lockers and exposing the column of his throat to Kurt's still-punishing lips.

"Wait, Kurt, stop, please."

But Kurt ignored him, latching onto the tender flesh of his neck with such force that Blaine was sure he could feel the capillaries bursting under his skin. He was gasping for air, crushed against the wall by Kurt's larger body, and his hands finally moved to grip Kurt's shoulders, digging into the muscles there to try and bring Kurt back to his senses.

"Stop, Kurt. Caesura. Just - stop. _Caesura_."

Kurt's body disappeared so abruptly that Blaine slipped down the wall and landed on his ass on the floor. He could hear Kurt's breathing, as harsh and ragged as his own, and he gave himself a few breaths before he forced his eyes open to face what had happened.

Kurt was on the floor as well, all the way across the hall with his back against the opposite bank of lockers. He had his knees drawn up and his face buried in his arms folded on top of them. He was shaking; Blaine thought maybe he was crying. Blaine wanted to cry too. What had happened to the perfect start to their perfect weekend? How could he ever get back to that beautiful place he'd been in half an hour ago?

"Kurt?"

Kurt raised his head when Blaine spoke and he wasn't crying after all, but he looked like he wanted to be. He didn't look at Blaine - his eyes darted around like he was looking for something before coming to rest on the floor somewhere in between them.

"What am I doing? Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have -"

"Don't say that." Blaine pushed himself onto his knees and scooted forward toward Kurt. He just wanted Kurt to look at him. But Kurt kept his eyes down no matter how Blaine tried to put himself in their line of sight. "Come on, Kurt. Please look at me. You didn't do anything wrong."

Kurt finally raised his eyes to Blaine, and they were dark with pain now, instead of anger. "You had to safeword!"

"We talked about this. Safewording doesn't mean anybody fucked up. Just changing tempo, remember?"

Kurt shook his head. "I was hurting you. I was hurting you and you were telling me to stop and I didn't listen. I was out of control. I can't do this."

Blaine pushed himself closer and reached out to take Kurt's hands in his. They were stiff and tense and he ran his thumbs over Kurt's knuckles, trying to soothe him. "You weren't out of control."

"You said no and I didn't stop!"

"That's why we have a safeword. Because ninety-nine times out of a hundred when I say no what I really mean is yes. And I need to be able to say no and know that I don't have to worry about you actually listening to me. This was just the one time that I really did need you to stop."

"Because I was attacking you, Blaine."

Blaine shook his head. "You weren't. You were just being dominant. Expressing your feelings in the way that you needed to . . ."

"Then why did you safeword?"

Blaine took a deep breath. He didn't want to hurt Kurt but he knew he had to be honest. "Because it felt like you were punishing me and I didn't know why."

And for some crazy reason it was the right thing to say, because Kurt finally unbent - his eyes filled with tears that seemed to dissolve the pain leaving only love and compassion, and he pulled his hands from Blaine's and shoved himself close enough to wrap them around Blaine's shoulders. Blaine hugged back for all he was worth.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," Kurt whispered against the side of Blaine's neck. "I was just so mad at him and then I had you up against the wall – I'm so, so sorry, Blaine."

Blaine wanted to say something to reassure Kurt that it was okay, but he was in Kurt's arms and Kurt's hand was stroking in his hair and despite all the insanity of the afternoon he was already starting to feel a little fuzzy and loose around the edges.

Kurt was still murmuring in his ear, "It's just really hard sometimes, you know? But you did the right thing."

"So did you. You stopped right away." Blaine let himself relax against Kurt's chest.

"It's not going to happen again. I promise. I'm going to take care of this."

Blaine hummed a little and marveled at how quickly just being held by Kurt could turn things around. That soft voice and those long, stroking fingers were all it took to remind Blaine of why they were both making sacrifices to be together. Whatever the cost, it was worth it. But he didn't say any of this to Kurt, because he knew the very best thing he could do for his dom right now was to let his dom take care of him.

Fate, Blaine thought as his warm bubble of happiness took shape around him once again, really knew what it was doing with this soulmate thing.

* * *

><p>Kurt was not happy.<p>

But his unhappiness could wait. Blaine was what was important right now. Kurt stroked his back and whispered reassurances in his ear and marveled as he felt Blaine's body relax against his, the flutter of his breath on Kurt's neck slowing and evening out. The fact that Blaine would so easily put himself in Kurt's hands right after . . . no, he'd think about that later. He had to take care of Blaine.

He slowed his own breathing, consciously matching it to Blaine's. He would have given anything to be able to stay like that, right there on the floor, just holding each other and breathing in the warm scent of Blaine's skin, but he knew at any moment someone could come around a corner and stumble on them. They'd been lucky the hallway had been deserted this long. He pulled back a little and Blaine lifted his head from Kurt's shoulder and smiled at him. There wasn't a trace of anxiety left in his expression and Kurt was once again amazed at the fact that just being held could fix so much for Blaine. He didn't think it would be as easy for himself.

"We should probably take this back to your office," Kurt said.

Blaine's smile widened; it was clean and real and he even chuckled a little. "I suppose Principal Figgins would consider this an 'overt display,' wouldn't he?"

Kurt smiled back and he tried to make it as genuine as Blaine's but he apparently didn't succeed because Blaine cupped his cheek and the tiniest shadow darkened his face. "Hey. I'm fine. We're fine." He leaned closer and pressed his lips to the corner of Kurt's mouth, warm and gentle, and Kurt abandoned himself to it, forgetting everything else, if only for a moment, as he turned into the kiss let Blaine show him just how fine they were.

But they were also still on the floor of a school hallway so all too soon Kurt moved back and stood up, pulling Blaine along with him. "We'd better go before this display gets any more overt," he said, and this time he could see by Blaine's expression that his smile actually reached his eyes.

They walked side-by-side this time, still holding hands. Kurt didn't know if Principal Figgins would object to hand holding, but he didn't really care. He didn't speak again and Blaine didn't push him.

Kurt hadn't understood until now, until he'd walked in on Blaine and Mr. Schuester arguing about what was best for him, for them, the impossibility of what he was trying to do. He understood now what Quinn had been trying to tell him about living in two worlds. Tradition and even law gave him authority over Blaine, authority that was meant to be used, with Blaine's consent, to protect him and make him feel safe and cared for. And his own instincts demanded that he exercise that authority. But how was he supposed to do that when, as a student, he had no real control over the people Blaine should be protected from?

The only thing he knew for sure was that he was never again going to take his frustration out on Blaine the way he had just now. He should have screamed at Mr. Schuester like he'd wanted to. Better to end up punished in some way, suspended, even expelled, than to force his sub to safeword in a public hallway at school. No. That wasn't happening again

"Did you work anything out?" Blaine said when their silent walk ended and he pushed his office door open. Kurt gestured him inside but didn't cross the threshold himself

"Wait here while I -" Kurt stopped himself mid-command. "I mean, I think you should wait -"

"Hey!" Blaine grabbed his hand and squeezed tight. "You can still give me orders. I like it, remember?"

Kurt shook his head. He knew the rules. "You safeworded."

"Which stops what we're doing. It doesn't change who we are. Don't second-guess yourself Kurt. Not with me, okay?"

Kurt smiled again at that. "Okay. You wait here. I have to go talk to Mr. Schue. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Blaine gave Kurt a little salute and backed up just enough to drop to his knees next to the guest chair, hands on his thighs, eyes lowered as if he was settling in for the duration.

"What are you doing?" Kurt asked.

"Waiting for you to come back."

"But I didn't tell you to -"

"I like it." Blaine glanced up just long enough for Kurt to see how sincere he was, then lowered his eyes again. "It makes me happy. Unless you don't want me to?"

And as confused as Kurt was about what had just happened and what it meant for them, he had to admit that there really wasn't anything more beautiful than Blaine on his knees. He took two steps into the room and rested his hand gently on the top of Blaine's head, stroking through the curls. Blaine didn't move but breathed a gentle humming sigh as Kurt touched him.

"Thank you," Kurt said simply, and Blaine just hummed again.

Kurt had planned to indulge in a little bit of a self-pitying tantrum once the office door closed behind him - the way the afternoon had been going he figured he deserved a few tears, maybe a foot to the bank of lockers (he knew from painful experience what a satisfying sound the reverberating metal made when something slammed into it hard enough) - but now, with the image of Blaine kneeling on the floor filling his head, he knew he had to be better than that. Yes, he wanted to rail against the unfairness of it all - that he was expected to do such an adult job in a place where everyone looked at him as a child - but the idea that this man, this very grown-up man, was kneeling in his office trusting Kurt, putting himself unhesitatingly in the hands of a teenage boy with no real authority in the world, that thought brought tears to Kurt's eyes for a very different reason than the one he'd anticipated. Blaine's faith in him was overwhelming and, as inadequate as Kurt might feel, he must deserve that faith because Fate had picked him for Blaine.

So no pity party. Kurt knew what he had to do.

He could hear Mercedes singing before he even turned the last corner and he hovered out of site to listen. He couldn't see anyone, but he knew what the room looked like. Rachel was smiling, of course, she always enjoyed her friends' performances, unless they were in direct competition with her. Santana was trying and probably failing to look unimpressed. Most of the rest of them would be bouncing in their seats, smiling, laughing, popping in on backup at all the right moments. Rory would be watching someone, probably Finn or Sam, instead of Mercedes, always looking for cues to make sure he didn't mess up somehow. And Mr. Schuester would be smiling over it all like their benevolent Godfather. He almost hated to have to intrude.

But when Mercedes' power-note finale trailed off and the sound of laughter and applause and congratulations filled the room, Kurt slipped through the door. The room quieted almost immediately. Most of the club had witnessed the little power struggle earlier and Kurt knew his presence put everyone on edge wondering what the fallout would be.

"Kurt, I'm glad you decided to come back." Mr. Schuester smiled warmly and Kurt knew that he meant it. Mr. Schuester always seemed to assume that, given enough time to consider, everyone would eventually come around to his way of thinking. "I'm afraid I gave your solo spot to Mercedes, but you're just in time for the group number Rachel wanted to try."

Kurt's eyes flickered reflexively toward his best friend when Mr. Schue said her name, but Rachel was very intently searching for something in her bag and didn't look up. He looked back at Mr. Schue. "Actually, I need to talk to you. Can we go out in hall?"

He could hear someone whispering, but he kept his gaze focused on his teacher. Mr. Schuester considered him carefully and Kurt could see he was starting to suspect that maybe Kurt hadn't quite come around after all. "I'm sorry, Kurt," he said, "but we're rehearsing. I can't leave now."

Kurt's heart began to beat faster and his hands tried to curl into fists but he forced them to relax. Mr. Schuester might be a teacher but he was also a sub and for both those reasons Kurt couldn't afford to lose control. "We can go outside or we can talk here, but either way we're going to talk. Rachel can lead the rehearsal."

The room was so quiet that Kurt was pretty sure he could hear the ancient watch Finn always wore - the one that had belonged to his father - ticking in the silence. Mr. Schuester just looked at him, one eyebrow raised. But when Kurt didn't back down he turned just long enough to say, "Rachel, go ahead," then walked out of the room without looking back.

Kurt followed him, stopping just outside the door and standing still, waiting for the rehearsal to pick up again. He didn't speak until he heard Rachel giving instructions in her most imperious voice. Then he took a deep breath and looked Mr. Schuester right in the eye, conjuring up the image of Blaine waiting on his knees in the hope that it would make him feel more like a dom and less like a kid.

"I need to ask you not to speak to my submissive again."

It sounded small and not at all authoritative to Kurt's ears, but Mr. Schuester's mouth dropped and for a moment he just gaped at Kurt.

"Excuse me?" was all Will managed to say.

"You upset Blaine. Things are hard enough for him. I won't let anyone attack him like that. So if you have anything you need to say about us, you come to me. I don't want you talking to him any more."

Mr. Schuester took a step closer, still looking like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I can't agree to that Kurt. You're a student. Mr. Anderson is my colleague."

"He's also my claimed submissive. Which means I have the right to decide who speaks to him. With his consent. Which I have."

At that Mr. Schuester ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "This is why this whole situation is so unacceptable, Kurt. You're trying to do an adult's job but you're not an adult. You're not ready for this and it's only going to get harder. You have to be realistic about what you can and can't control while you're a student here. I'm trying to help you."

Kurt laughed, a harsh sound that hurt his throat. "Oh, that's great. No one wanted to help me when it was jocks shoving me into lockers, but now that it's my soulmate, sure, feel free to try to fix my life for me."

Will froze at that, shocked, probably, that Kurt had abandoned their careful don't-ask-don't-tell policy where the bullying was concerned. When he spoke again his voice was calmer. "Look, I'm not trying to be a jerk about this, Kurt. But there are things that as a teacher I can't condone. If I have a problem with Mr. Anderson I will speak to Mr. Anderson. I'm not going to discuss those issues with you. You're my student." He said it firmly, almost patronizingly, like anyone with half a brain should have been able to understand.

"Not any more I'm not," Kurt said, just as firmly.

There were several gasps from the other side of the door and he realized, too late, that Rachel's voice in the choir room had never materialized into actual singing. Now faces began to pop around the doorjamb, faces with shocked eyes and gaping mouths.

"You don't mean that Kurt." Mr. Schuester's voice was as calm as Kurt's.

"Kurt you can't!" Rachel's voice addressing him was almost a shock after their week of silence. "Regionals . . ."

Of course it was the competition she was worried about. "You can get Jacob to fill in like he almost did last year."

A touch on his arm brought Kurt's attention back to Mr. Schuester. "This is exactly what I'm talking about Kurt. You're giving up glee club? Because I won't do what you want?"

Kurt just shook his head. "You really don't understand, do you? I knew I was going to quit before I came and talked to you." He looked around, at the friends who'd been so distant, and the teacher whose lack of support was the last straw. He felt so calm. He wondered if that was a bad sign. If he was going to break down in hysterics in the middle of dinner or something.

"Kurt, come on. You're just upset." Finn said.

"I'm really not, Finn." Kurt took a few steps toward the door so he could see into the room. "This used to be the only place in this school where I could be myself. But that's not true any more. So there's really nothing for me here." He turned back to Mr. Schuester. "I quit."

* * *

><p>Burt Hummel had a secret. A deep, dark, terrible secret that, if it ever came to light, would shock friends and family and destroy his carefully-maintained image as a completely typical male product of corn-fed mid-western America.<p>

He absolutely hated Breadstix.

It was Kurt's fault. After years of soufflés and gratinées and homemade baguettes with crusty exteriors hiding insides of steaming soft perfection, there was no way he could ever enjoy the limp bread sticks and the pasta cooked well past _al dente_ offered by Lima's favorite restaurant. But it was a secret he would take to his grave. It was his job to complain about the complexity of Kurt's fancy food, it was part of what kept the balance when he started to feel, more and more frequently as Kurt got older, that his son had the jump on him about more than food. And besides, he could only imagine the looks on the faces of the guys in the shop if they suspected that he knew how to use _al dente_ in a sentence.

But in the privacy of his own head the fact was inescapable. His son had ruined him for normal food.

So it was ironic that it was because of Kurt he was standing here in front of the restaurant he hated waiting for the rest of his family to arrive. Well, because Carole insisted that they had to make such a big deal about Kurt's soulmate. Blaine deserved something special, she'd said, for his first family dinner. Of course, Burt was perfectly aware that she'd suspected he would try to drag dinner out at home in order to keep Kurt there as long as possible. And he would have. Because claimed dom or not, Kurt was still his little boy and it still felt like Burt's job to protect him from difficulty and danger and moving too quickly into grown-up responsibilities - and activities.

And yet here he was. Jingling change in the pocket of his too-light jacket (and didn't he just know that Kurt would have something to say about him not being dressed right for the weather) as he waited impatiently for the rest of his family. He was here because Carole kept telling him that trying to protect Kurt now was like locking the barn door after all the horses had escaped and the best thing they could do was show Kurt he had their full support and understanding. And experience had taught him that Carole was usually right about these things.

"Hey sailor, come here often?" A hand slipped through the crook of his arm and a head leaned into the support of his shoulder.

"Only for you," he said, rubbing his jaw gently against Carole's hair as he took a moment just to appreciate her presence. "Are the kids here yet?"

She lifted her head and scanned the parking lot. "I thought Kurt and Blaine were right behind me when I pulled in."

They appeared then, as if on cue, weaving between parked cars. They kept a careful distance between them as they walked, both with hands in pockets, and Burt could see tension in their faces as they got closer. Well that was a surprise. They were less than a week into their claim; they should definitely still be giddy and mooning so obnoxiously that everyone around them wanted to upchuck. He was just opening his mouth to call out to them, maybe tease them about being so serious, try to put them at ease with the kind of little joke that usually worked on Kurt, when they came around the front of an old Volkswagon and turned to face the restaurant head-on.

_What the hell?_ Burt felt his jaw drop but before he could recover from his shock enough to make his mouth form the words in his head Carole's elbow dug into his ribs and pulled his attention her way just long enough for her to give him a quelling glare and a tiny shake of her head. Then she extracted her arm from his and walked out to meet them with a cheery "There you are!"

"We're not late are we? Have you been waiting?" Kurt asked as Carole hugged first him, then Blaine, and slid one arm though each of theirs to lead them back to where Burt was standing.

"Oh, God, no. I just got here." She gave Blaine a dazzling smile. "It's so good to see you again, Blaine."

Burt probably would have grumbled something about laying it on pretty thick, if he wasn't still completely paralyzed by the sight of the violent purple bruise screaming like a neon sign from Blaine's neck.

"It's good to see you too, Mrs. Hudson, Mr. Hummel." Blaine turned a little more in Burt's direction when he spoke to him and Burt knew he really needed to drag his eyes away from the hickey but the thing seemed to have some kind of magic hold on him. He couldn't stop staring at it. There was a part of him, he had to admit it, that was impressed that Kurt had marked Blaine so spectacularly that he was pretty sure his blind Aunt Muriel could have described the colors in it in exacting detail. The rest of him, though, was stuck on the thought that his son, his Kurt, had _that_ in him.

"Oh, now, none of that, it's Carole and _Burt_." The stress on the "Burt" was enough to finally break the spell of the mark on Blaine's neck and Burt managed to bring his attention back to his wife, who was openly glaring at him now, and the two boys, who were both staring at the ground, cheeks flushed almost as bright as the hickey.

"Thank you, that's very nice of you," Blaine mumbled without looking up.

A bunch of boisterous teenagers appeared out of the parking lot and several of them eyed the awkward little group as they passed. Their attention must have spurred Carole into action because she took Burt's arm again - and he had to suppress a wince at the strength of her grip - and smiled at Kurt and Blaine.

"Don't be silly. Kurt calls me Carole, Finn calls him Burt -" she stressed it again and squeezed his arm hard, "- it'd just be ridiculous to have you Mr. and Mrs.-ing." She stared up at Burt with look that clearly meant _get your act together_. "Finn texted me a few minutes ago that he was just leaving Rachel's, so let's go ahead and get a table. I've been dying for a glass of wine all day." She pulled Burt toward the door but hung back when he opened it and gestured for the boys to go first. Burt's mouth dropped open again as Blaine passed him and he spotted yet another hickey, this one older and yellowing but just as impressive, behind Blaine's ear.

"Jesus Christ, what are they doing in that school?" Burt whispered to Carole, hanging back as the boys approached the hostess table.

"Would you please try to be civil? He's your son's soulmate!" she all but hissed at him.

"Oh, believe me, I know. With marks like that I think they know in Toledo."

"Kurt is in a very difficult position. If he needs to take it out on Blaine's body, well, the only one who should have anything to say about that is Blaine."

It was Burt's turn to glare at Carole. "Well thank you for that image. Especially when I'm about to eat."

Finn arrived just as they were settling in with their menus and he looked just as unhappy as Kurt and Blaine. Burt was beginning to suspect that the food wasn't the only thing that was going to suck tonight.

"No Rachel?" Carole asked as she jumped up and hugged her son.

"Let me guess," Kurt said, staring up at his brother. "Her dads have decided to fund her Broadway debut and she's holding open call auditions for a co-star tonight."

Finn stared right back at Kurt and Burt had the uncomfortable feeling that things were going on about which he knew nothing. He hated being out of the loop, especially where his kids were concerned.

"Why don't you just give her a break, okay?" Finn said. "She's under a lot of pressure."

"Right. Because passing judgment on my personal life is _so_ exhausting. I'm surprised any of you have the energy to get out of bed in the morning."

"This doesn't have anything to do with you and Bl . . .Mr. . . with . . . with that. She's just really upset about what happened today."

Burt and Carole's eyes met, but when he lifted a brow in question she only shrugged.

"Okay," Burt said, "what happened today?"

Kurt stared at his lap. Finn settled in his chair and hid his face in his menu. Blaine remained as silent and removed as he'd been since they'd sat down.

The waitress appeared then and her cheery greeting clashed jarringly with the prevailing mood at the table. They ordered drinks and food, Finn and Kurt both in carefully casual voices, Blaine so quiet Burt could barely hear him from across the table. When she left them with only glasses of water to distract them, they all lapsed back into silence.

"Somebody'd better start talking." Burt stared at each of them in turn but they all avoided his gaze. Finn's eyes met Kurt's, though, and Kurt shook his head, trying to send his brother some sort of silent signal.

"Finn," Burt said in his strongest command voice. He thought he saw Blaine wince out of the corner of his eye. But he kept his attention focused on his stepson. "What the hell happened?"

"Kurt quit glee club," Finn blurted, shooting Kurt a look of apology.

"Oh my God, Finn!" Kurt said.

"Dude, he was going to find out anyway!"

"Oh honey, why would you do that?" Carole reached across to take Kurt's hand.

Only Burt and Blaine were silent. Burt didn't know what Blaine was thinking, but he himself could only stare at Kurt, completely astonished. He'd been imagining all kinds of trouble that Kurt could have gotten into but never in a million years would he have guessed this. Glee club was everything to Kurt. He'd seen how much it had hurt Kurt last year when he'd thrown his chance to sing that solo because of the crank calls Burt was getting. And that was just one song. Now suddenly he was walking away from the whole damn thing?

"Kurt." Burt waited until his son looked up at him. "What happened in glee club?"

"I don't want to talk about it Dad. It's my life and my decision."

Blaine moved then, resting a hand on Kurt's forearm with a soft "Kurt," that sounded almost like begging.

Kurt turned to him and although his eyes were gentle his voice was firm. "No," he said simply.

"Look, Kurt," Burt said, "I know you're a bonded dom now. Hell, I think everybody we walked past on the way to this table knows."

"Dad!" Kurt hissed.

"But you're also my son and if there's trouble at school it's still my business. So out with it."

But Kurt just stared down at his arm, where Blaine's fingers were stroking gently back and forth, and didn't speak.

"Finn?" Burt turned his attention to his stepson, who looked like he wanted to disappear. "What doesn't my kid want to tell me?"

Finn shot a miserable glance at Kurt but then looked right back at Burt, just as Burt had known he would.

"Kurt wanted Mr., um . . ." he fumbled for a second then inclined his head in Blaine's direction, "he wanted _him_ to watch rehearsal today. But Mr. Schue said no. So Kurt quit."

"Is that true Kurt?"

Kurt was staring at Finn, his mouth gaping open like he couldn't believe anybody could be so stupid.

Blaine looked at Kurt for a long moment then turned to Burt. "It was a little more complicated than that."

Blaine's words seemed to unfreeze Kurt, but he was still focused on Finn. "You wonder why I don't want to be around any of you? You can't even say his name, Finn! And you have two to choose from so it shouldn't be that freaking hard!"

"That's the whole point, dude! He's your boyfriend; he's my teacher - what am I supposed to do with that?"

"He's not _your_ teacher!"

"You know what I mean!"

Carole put a restraining hand on each of the boys' arms. "Okay, let's try to calm down a little. I haven't been kicked out of a restaurant in fifteen years and I really want my wine."

"Blaine, okay?" Finn said in a slightly quieter but no less intense voice. "Blaine. I can say it." He turned to look straight at Kurt's soulmate. "I'm glad you're here, Blaine. I'm glad Kurt found you. And I appreciate _you_ understanding that this is hard for some of us to wrap our heads around."

"Thank you Finn," Blaine said with a little nod.

Finn turned back to his brother. "Is that what you wanted? Will you come back to glee now?"

"That's not the point, Finn. That's not what this is about at all."

Burt set his water glass on the table with a loud thump that effectively drew everyone's attention his way. "Well somebody better tell me what this is all about before I decide we need to take this discussion back to the house after dinner."

Kurt heaved a dramatic sigh but Burt knew he had him where it counted. "Fine," he said, but he glared at Burt just to make sure his dad knew how much being cornered like this pissed him off.

"So talk," Burt said.

"I asked Blaine to meet me at glee after school. So he could watch me sing. And when I got there Mr. Schue was attacking him."

"Attacking how?"

"He had him cornered, Dad. He was holding onto his arm and telling him he had to leave, that the other kids shouldn't be exposed to us, that we shouldn't have bonded and that we were a bad example -"

"Okay, so what did you do?"

"I got Blaine out of there. We left and we . . ." a silent look passed between Kurt and Blaine, ". . . we talked. And then I went back to the choir room and I told Mr. Schue that I didn't want him talking to Blaine anymore. I told him he'd have to go through me if had anything he needed to say. Which I have a right to do, Dad, he's my submissive." Kurt's voice raised defensively, even though Burt hadn't said anything at all.

"That is absolutely your right." Kurt's mouth fell open in such a perfect "O" of surprise that Burt had to hold back a laugh.

"Well he didn't quite see it that way," Kurt said once he recovered. "He said I didn't have the right to tell him how to interact with the other teachers."

Burt nodded. "I can see his point."

"But you just said -" Kurt protested.

"Let me finish, son." Burt held Kurt's gaze until his son began to relax. "I told you last weekend that this was going to be a hard road. We talked about it. You being able to put marks like that on his body doesn't change the fact that you have to be in bed by eleven o'clock on school nights." Kurt flushed, but he held Burt's eyes. "And you being in charge of his welfare doesn't mean that all your teachers have to magically start treating you like an adult."

"I have rights!"

"Yes you do. And you could probably find a way to push this if you wanted to. But what are you really going to accomplish? In a couple of months the year'll be over and Blaine's not going to be at McKinley anymore. It won't even be an issue."

"But it's not fair!" Kurt protested.

"You're right. It's not. But one thing I've always admired about you, Kurt, is your ability to look 'not fair' in the face and still figure out a way to come out on top."

"You are pretty good at that, dude," Finn chimed in.

Burt felt Carole's hand on his thigh, squeezing gently, and he gave her a smile before he turned to Kurt again. "So was that the reason you quit? Because Schuester didn't respect your authority?"

Kurt shrugged. "Partly. I think I knew I had to do it even before I talked to him, though. I just . . . I don't belong there anymore, Dad."

"That doesn't sound like you."

Kurt looked at Finn, then back at Burt. "Nobody talks me since they found out. Half of them won't even look at me. They don't want to hear about this any more than Mr. Schuester does. I can't face it, Dad."

The pain on his face made Burt's heart clench and he was completely at a loss for words. Kurt was right, everything he was saying made sense, but it still felt as wrong as it could be to think of him giving up glee.

A server appeared then, setting drinks in front of them, and Burt reached eagerly for his beer.

"It's about more than friends though, isn't it?" Carole asked, once they'd been left alone. She fiddled with the stem of her wine glass. "I mean, performing is so important you. Wouldn't you miss that? And don't you need extra-curriculars on your college applications? They have a good shot at nationals, right? Admissions departments love stuff like that."

Kurt didn't answer, he just sighed and took a sip of his Coke.

"And what do you think of this?" Burt jerked his chin at Blaine, who started, eyes wide. He looked at Kurt but Kurt only stared silently at his drink, so he turned back to Burt.

"I told Kurt I didn't want him to give up glee club because of me."

"It's not because of you," Kurt said, only half turning his head toward Blaine.

"Because of us then," Blaine said. "I think he needs it."

Kurt looked like he wanted to say something back to Blaine but whatever it was had to wait as their waitress arrived, with a friend in tow and two trays full of steaming, overdone pasta.

Burt didn't bring up glee club again, and Kurt seemed more than happy to have the subject dropped. He jumped in when Carole asked the boys about weekend plans and the three of them, Carole, Finn and Kurt, chattered on in a way that would have looked perfectly normal to any casual observers. Blaine stayed silent (Burt was starting to wonder if the man ever spoke more than two sentences together) but whenever Burt tried to catch his eye he was either watching Kurt or completely focused on his food.

So Burt applied himself to his limp spaghetti with a sigh, wishing fervently that it was one of Kurt's creations instead. Well at least everyone was too preoccupied trying to act normal to notice him piling on extra Parmesan cheese. Everyone except Blaine, who finally glanced in his direction just in time to catch him in the act. But Blaine only smiled and bent to take another bite.

Half an hour later, as they were headed out the door, Burt reached for Kurt's arm and pulled him aside from the group. "You guys go ahead, I want to talk to my son for a minute."

"Dad!" Kurt whined, just like he used to when he was nine and being told to eat his vegetables.

"Here or the house," Burt threatened.

Kurt groaned, but he stopped resisting.

"We'll only be a minute," Burt said, tugging Kurt around the corner of the building out of sight.

"I get it, Dad." Kurt said as he trailed along behind Burt. "You want me to go back to glee club. But it's my decision and I'm not making it tonight. I just want go back to Blaine's, okay? This day has sucked in ways I can't even explain and I just want it over."

"Just one more thing, okay?"

Kurt sighed but nodded.

"I want you to really think about how this is going to affect Blaine."

Burt could tell that wasn't what Kurt had expected him to say. "He . . . he wants me to do what I think is right," he said.

"Of course he does; he's your sub. But that doesn't mean he doesn't have feelings about it." Burt rubbed at the back of his neck. He could definitely sympathize with Kurt's desire to have this day over with. "If you quit glee, on top of everything else you're giving up in order to be with him -"

"Being with him is worth anything I have to give up," Kurt insisted. "He knows that. I told him."

"That doesn't mean he won't still feel guilty about it. I bet he told you that being with you is worth him having to stick around this crummy town for another year, too, didn't he? And does that make you feel any less guilty for keeping him here?" Kurt flinched a little and Burt could see he'd hit a nerve. "I know you hate to have it pointed out, but Blaine's a lot older than you which means he has more perspective. He knows better than you do what kind of things you're going to miss out on because of him."

"Because of us, Dad. He's not the only one in this. I was the one who wanted to claim him right away."

"That's not the point." Burt gripped Kurt's shoulders and held him still. "Blaine's a submissive. He doesn't think like we do. He doesn't automatically assume he's worthy of you. And the more you give up for him - and that's how it'll feel to him, Kurt, no matter what he says - the more pressure he's going to put on himself to live up to that. To make up for the stuff you didn't get to have. That's a heavy burden for anyone to carry around."

Kurt shook his head, almost like he was trying to escape Burt's words. "I don't want him to do that."

"Then you have some serious thinking to do. You made a stand; I'm proud of you for doing that. I know it would cost you a lot to swallow your pride and go back, after the things Schuester said. More than you'd be willing to do for yourself, maybe. But you need to decide whether you're willing to do it for your soulmate."

Kurt pulled away from him then and paced back and forth along the side of the building. "Why can't you all just understand that I don't want to be in glee club any more?"

"Oh, I don't believe that for a second." Kurt stopped moving and glared at him but Burt only laughed. "Come on, Kurt, this is me you're talking to. I know what that club means to you. I've been living through it for going on two years now. You're hurt and pissed off and your dom hormones have got you all in a twist but you need that club and you know it."

"Not now. Not anymore."

"Bullshit."

"It's not the same Dad!" Kurt practically shouted. "Glee's supposed to be a place where I can be myself! It's supposed to be safe. It's the place where I don't have to fight just to be treated like a normal human being."

"Since when?"

Kurt gaped at him. It was a rare thing to render his son speechless and Burt pressed his advantage before Kurt had a chance to recover.

"Maybe your hormones are giving you amnesia, but I distinctly remember you fighting for everything you ever got from that club. When Schuester didn't want you sing that song, and when he kept making you sing with the boys, and when you didn't get solos competition after competition. But you stayed, Kurt. You stayed and you fought because there was something there that was worth fighting for. You fought so hard. And now you expect me to believe that you really want to walk away? Because what? Nobody understands you? So what else is new?"

Kurt just stared at him, then suddenly he started to tremble and for a second Burt was afraid he'd made him cry but then Kurt moved a little into the light and Burt realized he was laughing. Well, he'd take it. A Kurt who could laugh was a Kurt who could listen. Burt smiled back at him, then he was laughing too, and he hoped it felt as cleansing for Kurt as it did for him.

"Look, kid, I know there's no guarantee your friends and Schuester are going to come around. But I can guarantee that if you don't go back they never will. And even if they don't, there's still good reasons to stay, Kurt. For both of you." He shook his head. "I'm not going to say it's not going to suck to walk back in there and let him think he won - it takes a lot of strength to do something like that. I just don't want you to let that cloud your judgment. You need to figure out what's best for both of you."

Kurt groaned through the last of his laughter. "God, being a grown up sucks sometimes, doesn't it?"

"Oh, yeah. If they gave adulthood classes that'd be the first lesson. Welcome to the real world."

They both laughed again at that, and Burt reached out and pulled Kurt into a tight hug. "Just promise me you'll think about it," he said over Kurt's shoulder.

Kurt pulled back and smiled and his expression was clearer than Burt had seen it so far that night. "Thanks, Dad."

And really, hearing his son say that was worth a hundred terrible fake Italian dinners. Any day.

* * *

><p>They didn't speak at all on the ride back to the apartment. Pain was starting to spike in the space behind Blaine's eyes and he felt the weight of everything that had happened pressing him down into the upholstery of his seat. He hated seeing Kurt unhappy, hated arguments, and most of all he hated having no idea what his role was. He wasn't really part of the Hummel family yet, even though everything they did was going to affect his life from now on.<p>

The only things that kept him from outright crying were the memory of Carole's hand squeezing his warmly as she kissed him on the cheek before he climbed into the Navigator, and Kurt's soft, sweet smile when he came back from his tête-à-tête with his father.

But Kurt had been silent ever since, lost in his own thoughts, and Blaine let his head sink back against the seat and closed his eyes. At least, he thought, he had Kurt. Even if their first real night together had been completely derailed, they could still nestle together in his bed and Kurt could hold him and maybe by morning things would look more manageable.

A warm hand settled on top of his own where it rested on the seat, and gentle fingers curled around his palm. Blaine could feel himself relax from just that simple touch. He didn't open his eyes or speak; he just let himself enjoy the feeling of everything else receding as his world contracted down to that single point of contact.

Sooner than he'd expected the car slowed to a stop. "Are you asleep?" Kurt asked.

"Nope. Just enjoying this."

"What?"

Blaine curled his own fingers around Kurt's and have them a little double squeeze. Kurt made a huffing sound that might have been a chuckle, but Blaine wasn't ready to open his eyes to check.

Kurt's other hand settled heavy on the back of his neck and pulled him into the feather-light brush of soft lips and he whimpered, not even trying to suppress it because this was exactly what he needed, this sweet gentle reminder, and when the lips were gone Blaine opened his eyes to find Kurt's only inches away. The yellow glow of the street light stole their color but their expression was all that mattered - so close and looking at Blaine like he was something precious.

"Should we go in?" Blaine whispered. The mood between them seemed so delicate and he wanted to keep it as long as possible.

Kurt shook his head. "Not yet. I want to talk."

"In the car?"

Kurt leaned to the side and stared past Blaine in the direction of the house. "When we go in there, I want it to be everything we've both been planning this week." His eyes found Blaine's again and they were more serious now. "So anything you're thinking, or that you need to say, I want you to tell me now. I don't want anything between us."

Blaine sighed. He longed for the haven of his apartment, but he understood what Kurt was trying to say. So many things had happened that afternoon and evening that his head spun a little when I tried to remember them all and put them in order in his mind. Maybe it was better to get everything out now. He was willing to try anything that might get them back on track for the weekend he'd dreamed about.

"I think he was right about some things," he said, letting his head fall onto the back of the seat again.

"My dad?" Kurt asked.

"Him too, but I really meant Will. He wasn't being very tactful about it but - he wasn't wrong. Not completely."

"What do you mean?"

Blaine glanced over at Kurt. He looked puzzled, brows drawn together over his strangely colorless eyes, but he wasn't rejecting the idea out of hand. Blaine squeezed Kurt's hand tight. "I don't want you to just have me and nothing else. I get that we both have to give things up in order to be together right now, but I do want you to have a chance to be a normal kid in high school and experience all the stuff that goes with that."

"Right, because my high school experience has been so memorable up until now."

"I just don't want you losing touch with the things you love, Kurt. Will's right. You're going to spend most of your free time in there -" he jerked his head back toward the house, "- with me. Because we both need that. But if you quit glee club -"

"Blaine -"

Blaine pressed two fingers to Kurt's lips. "Just hear me out, okay? Your friends already feel strange about us and if you quit glee I don't see how that's ever going to get fixed. I'm afraid you're going to end up isolated, even more than you feel now, and when I'm not there anymore . . ."

"I've spent most of my life being alone," Kurt said, pulling Blaine's hand away from his mouth. "I think I can handle one more year."

"But I don't want that for you. Not if it doesn't have to be that way."

It was Kurt's turn to heave a sigh and drop his own head back against his seat. "Everyone keeps talking about being normal. But what does that even mean? I have never been normal, and believe me, my high school experience before you was the opposite of anything you'd look back fondly on." He rolled his head toward Blaine, looking tired and frustrated but not, thank goodness, angry. "So you can't take me to the prom. Well it's not like I was going to go to the prom anyway. Now instead of sitting home alone watching a Jersey Shore marathon I can come here and watch it with you." A smile bloomed on his lips. "And you can be naked. And serve me drinks. And feed me grapes or something."

"Are you trying to change the subject?" Blaine asked, but he was smiling too.

"Or . . . maybe in honor of the occasion I'll let you wear a bowtie." He raised an eyebrow and leaned closer. "I'd just have to figure out where I want to tie it."

Blaine groaned but his smile widened. Kurt reached to touch the corner of his mouth and his fingers caressed up over his cheekbone and down the length of his jaw. "I promised my dad I would think about going back," he said, "and I really will. If you both think it's that important for me, then it probably is."

Kurt's acceptance, his faith in Blaine, felt like the sun peeking out after their stormy day. "Thank you," he said fervently.

"You're welcome." Kurt's smile widened briefly, but then it disappeared altogether. "Now I have something to ask you."

"Anything," Blaine said.

Kurt moved his hand back to Blaine's and slid their fingers together. He was quiet for a long moment, just staring at their joined hands. When he finally spoke, it was very careful and precise, as if he'd been practicing what words to use. "Why did you safeword today? On Monday, I was just as upset and I marked you and you didn't stop me. I thought you liked it."

"I did. On Monday."

Kurt looked up at him out of the corner of his eye and Blaine was struck by how young and unsure he could look for someone who could also be so completely in charge of them both.

"So what was different today?"

Blaine thought carefully before he answered. It was an easy question, but he wanted to make sure that Kurt really understood him. "On Monday you were mad at me -"

"I wasn't!"

Blaine squeezed Kurt's hand. "Maybe not consciously, but I was the one wearing your cuff and refusing to acknowledge you. You knew why, and you accepted it, but of course you were angry. Any dom would be. So when you marked me you were expressing that anger and frustration, and maybe punishing me a little -"

"No -"

"You were, Kurt. Of course you were. Think about it. You were expressing your - well, ownership, I guess - in the only way I was willing to let you. You were angry, like today, but on Monday it was all about us. You and me and nobody else. You were dominating me in this primal, instinctive way - it totally turned me on."

"But today was different." Kurt didn't make it a question, but Blaine answered it anyhow.

"Today wasn't about me, or us at all. You were mad at Will. But you couldn't yell at him or shove him into a wall so you used me instead, to get those feelings out. And honestly, sometimes that might be just as good for me but today it wasn't. It all felt really wrong, for whatever reason, so I stopped it."

Kurt grimaced a little. "That's not very specific. Sometimes it might be okay but today it wasn't? So how am I supposed to know what I should do next time?"

"But that's the whole point. That's why we have safewords. There are a million reasons something - anything - might be okay one day and not the next. You're just supposed to follow your instincts and do what feels right. And it's my job to speak up if it's not." Blaine squeezed Kurt's hand tight in his own. "But God, Kurt, the last thing I want is for you to be second-guessing yourself with me. Everything you do is wonderful. It's just not always going to be wonderful every time."

"This is very confusing, you know," Kurt said.

"That's where the trust comes in. I know you don't like that because you're a dom and you like to control things, and you feel like it's your job to keep me safe -"

"It is my job."

"But if you're always holding back you'll never really be able to give either of us what we need. That's why you have to trust me to safeword when I need to and you have to really get that me safewording doesn't mean you did anything wrong."

"It just feels to me like it does. Stop means wrong."

"Because you're not a sub. This is just something you have to take my word for."

Kurt stared at him so long that Blaine was beginning to wonder if he'd said something wrong. But then finally he smiled, and the streetlight illuminated a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He dangled the car keys in front of Blaine. "Let's go inside," he said. "You can bring my bag from the back."

Such a simple order, but it sounded like hope to Blaine and his dick concurred with an optimistic throb.

* * *

><p>Kurt followed Blaine up the walk, letting him do everything, not even offering to help when Blaine had to set down the bag to unlock the main door for him, then pick it up and repeat the whole process at the apartment door. Kurt had only had the one dom class so far, but Thomas and Mira had stressed right off the bat how important rules, routines and service were to most subs. Excelling at specific tasks with exacting standards made the submissive feel important and valuable to the dominant. Which was just a fancy way of saying what Finn had told Kurt the day he'd met Blaine. Having someone tell you what to do made you feel loved.<p>

Kurt was very determined to make Blaine feel loved tonight.

"You can take that into the bedroom," he said once the door was closed and locked behind them. He followed Blaine across the dark living room and down the hall to the bedroom. Blaine switched on the light and set Kurt's bag down next to the dresser. Then he turned to Kurt and waited, still and expectant but more relaxed than Kurt had seen him all evening.

He left Blaine standing there while he slipped out of his jacket and kicked off his shoes, then he handed both to Blaine and climbed onto the bed, so that when Blaine finished putting his things away and turned back to face Kurt he was stretched out on his side, his head supported on one arm.

"You look like a Roman nobleman waiting to be entertained," Blaine said, and his eyes glowed in the soft light.

"Does that make you the slave boy whose job it is to keep me happy?" Kurt asked.

"Only in every fantasy I've ever had."

Kurt went with it, letting his eyes rake up and down Blaine's body. "Take your clothes off," he finally said. "Slowly."

Blaine's smile widened into something Kurt was pretty sure qualified as a leer, but he obeyed, making a show of unbuttoning his cardigan, sliding his shirt teasingly down his gorgeous arms, lifting his t-shirt to let his abs peek out before pulling it over his head. He laid each item neatly on the dresser, then pulled off his shoes and socks and left them next to Kurt's on the floor. His pants were too tight to drop gracefully, but Blaine was good at improvising, apparently. He fingered the button before he teased it through its hole, and his eyes locked with Kurt's as he pulled the zipper slowly down.

He turned his back then, bending forward to peel the pants down his legs, wiggling his ass until Kurt was struggling to hold back the laughter that would definitely destroy the whole Roman/slave boy illusion.

When the pants were finally off and folded with everything else on top of the dresser Blaine locked eyes with Kurt again and reached for the waistband of his briefs.

"Stop," Kurt commanded, and Blaine froze, dropping his hands to his sides.

Kurt climbed off the bed and moved to stand in front of Blaine, so close that their bodies were almost touching. He could see Blaine's breath speed up and his cock thickening in the tight confines of his blue briefs. He cocked his head to one side and tried his best to look like he was evaluating Blaine, like a prize animal or gorgeous piece of art. He circled around behind Blaine and stroked down his spine and lower; Blaine shivered as Kurt's fingers teased along the crack of his ass then glided around his thigh and up to cup his cock. Blaine was hard but not _hard_, and Kurt pressed himself against Blaine's back and slid his palm up and down Blaine's length. "Oh, come on. You can do better than that," he whispered in Blaine's ear and as if it understood perfectly Blaine's dick responded, lengthening until it was straining under the fabric of his briefs.

Kurt kept rubbing, and Blaine moaned, leaning back and letting his head fall onto Kurt's shoulder. "God, please don't ever, ever, ever stop doing that," he begged.

"Oh, I need you much more desperate than this," Kurt whispered. He sucked Blaine's earlobe into his mouth, teased it with his tongue, and gave his erection one final squeeze. Then he reached for Blaine's right arm, quickly unbuckling his cuff and, still pressed into Blaine's back, presented his own cuff to be undone.

While Blaine set the cuffs on the dresser next to his folded clothes, Kurt went to rummage in his bag until he found the handout he'd saved from his first dom class. He carried it back to the bed, stretched out again, and waved an imperious hand at Blaine. "You can take them off now."

Blaine reached for the waistband a second time and Kurt could see his hands tremble. He'd been too busy concentrating on Blaine to think much about his own pleasure, but that little tell, that sign that he was already getting under Blaine's skin and bringing him back to the place he'd been before this afternoon's drama had killed their momentum, filled Kurt with a sense of power that went straight to his dick. And the sight of Blaine slowly sliding those briefs down, revealing his nakedness inch by inch, only intensified the feeling. Kurt was struck, as he was sure he always would be, by the beauty of Blaine's naked body. He looked like an ancient Olympian ready to wrestle his opponent into the ground. A living, breathing embodiment of Michelangelo's David. Except for the hard cock jutting out in front of him, but really, that just added to the overall picture Blaine made standing there, just waiting for Kurt to tell him what to do next. Breathtaking.

But Kurt had plans, plans to make Blaine feel all the things that his Dom class teachers had said were important for a submissive. He dragged his eyes away from the gorgeous naked man in front of him and down to the paper he held in his hands.

"Presentation Postures for the Submissive," he read out loud, and Blaine's tiny gasp went straight to his dick.

* * *

><p>Blaine moved through position after position, stretching his body this way and that as Kurt circled and evaluated and demanded perfect stillness with no concern for the stress that any particular position might put on his body. Standing with his hands clasped on the back of his head was the most surprising. It made Blaine feel exposed and vulnerable, and Kurt kept him that way for such a long time, pinching at his nipples and the skin on his cock until he couldn't hold back sharp, needy whimpers, no matter how hard he tried.<p>

But as soon as he started to feel like maybe he could stand here forever if Kurt would only keep touching him that way, Kurt moved on, tossing a pillow on the floor and commanding Blaine to kneel. Then there was more adjusting, arms behind his head, clasped in front, resting on his thighs. Eventually Kurt stopped telling him how to move and simply arranged Blaine himself, adjusting the tilt of his head, the placement of his hands. That was the last straw for Blaine. With no verbal commands to follow he finally let go completely and let himself be what Kurt wanted him to be: decoration, an object to be placed as Kurt found most pleasing. It was then that he started to really feel the tension from the day leave his body and his world was nothing but Kurt's breath on his skin as he bent close to move him here and there, and Kurt's miraculous fingers, teasing their way across his flesh as they molded and shaped Blaine into his own vision of perfection.

"Open your eyes, Blaine."

Blaine hadn't even realized they were closed. He opened them to find Kurt right there, kneeling in front of him with a smile and desire in his eyes that Blaine thought must be a mirror image of his own.

"Now look down at the floor, but don't move your head."

Blaine lowered his eyes to a spot just in front of his bent knees.

"That's perfect. This is your kneeling position."

Blaine's arms were folded behind his back, each hand grasping for the opposite elbow. His legs were just far enough apart to let his balls hang freely between them. His head was high but his eyes lowered. He felt completely exposed and on display. He also felt beautiful.

Kurt slid a hand between his legs and fondled his balls, rolling them gently, then not so gently, until Blaine had to struggle to hold himself perfectly still. His cock flexed over and over, the head pressing damp against the skin of his belly.

"I wish you could see how you look, Blaine," Kurt said His voice had a breathless edge to it. "You're like a - like a fallen angel or something. Totally at my mercy."

"I am," Blaine said, eyes still carefully focused on the floor. "That's all I ever want to be."

Kurt stood up then, and as his body passed through Blaine's line of sight it was obvious that he was hard, straining against his fly.

"Please, can I . . . I want to . . ."

"Tell me," Kurt commanded.

"I want you," Blaine begged. "So much." Kurt stood so close, and it had been so long since Blaine had been able to touch and taste his naked body. It would only take the tiniest movement of Blaine's head to press his mouth against the bulge that waited just one layer of denim away.

"Well what I want is for you to hold this position. Memorize it. And then we'll see."

And he walked out of the room, leaving Blaine alone, cock pulsing, muscles straining in the unnatural position, and no dom there to distract him from need and discomfort.

Submitting to Kurt, to his hands and his mouth and his rules and commands, was natural. Blaine had been training most of his adult life for that kind of submission. But submitting to the absence of Kurt, to the waiting, to stillness and quiet and the lack of things that felt so vital to his existence now, that took so much more conscious effort. But the greatest acts of submission brought the greatest rewards, and kneeling there on the floor alone, trying to remember every tiny nuance of the shape Kurt had created with his body, Blaine felt the very last strands of anxiety from the day fall away and he began to feel like the Blaine he'd been that morning when all he'd wanted was to be Kurt's in every way possible.

He lost track of time, kneeling there. He could hear Kurt making noises in the kitchen, letting him know that he wasn't alone. The ache in his shoulders grew, and his thighs began to tremble gently, but he embraced the pain, fell through it like water, floated on it, thinking only of Kurt, wonderful Kurt who once again had found the perfect way to shut out fear and anxiety make Blaine feel safe. He wondered who did that for doms. He could remember being told in his sub classes long ago that doms didn't crave the feeling of protection and safety that was so vital to a submissive, but even with his vast experience of dominants that was hard for Blaine to believe. It just felt so necessary to his very existence. It wrapped around him in an almost physical way, both soothing and arousing, making him feel completely owned yet wholly his own. It was bliss.

Blaine was so lost thought and sensation that he didn't even notice Kurt coming back into the room and when a hand tightened sharply in his hair his yelp was more from surprise than pain.

"You moved." Kurt's voice was rougher than Blaine had ever heard it. It went right through him, spiked straight down the center of his body, and left him quivering with desire and the need to atone.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said without thinking.

Kurt pulled harder, tugging Blaine's head back to the appropriate position, then kept his hand tight in Blaine's curls, twisting a little so Blaine had to fight against it to keep his head where it had been put.

The outline of Kurt's cock inside his jeans was once again just inches from Blaine's mouth. Kurt's hand twisted against his scalp and the muscles in his arms ached and his dick was as hard as he could ever remember it being and all he wanted out of life was to have that cock in his mouth again. Even the tiniest taste . . .

"Please, please Kurt . . ."

"Tell me what you want," Kurt commanded.

"Please . . . let me taste you. It's been so long. I want to make you come. I need to make you come . . ."

Kurt pulled harder, so that Blaine was finally forced to give in and tilt his head up to meet Kurt's eyes. Eyes that were dark and - dangerous was the only word to describe it. "Do you really think you deserve that, Blaine?" Kurt asked quietly.

The very few cells in Blaine's brain that weren't occupied with being as turned on as a person was capable of being, pointed out that a Kurt who was actually being instructed in how to dominate was probably a very dangerous thing indeed.

"Please," he begged. "I'll be so good, I'll do anything, just, God, it's been forever."

He could tell Kurt was as turned on as he was - his cock was outlined thick and defined in his pants and his hips were thrusting, just the tiniest bit, rhythmically, teasing Blaine as they canted closer to his mouth, then further away.

Finally Kurt's free hand reached for the button of his fly and Blaine's body responded immediately with a surge of precome that trickled over the head of his cock. It was followed by several more as Kurt pulled his zipper down, let go of Blaine's hair long enough to shove jeans and underwear down to his thighs, and his cock slipped out to stand hard and so fucking close. Kurt was breathing fast but Blaine held his breath, afraid that the tiniest move might make Kurt change his mind about doing what he was obviously contemplating. He only dared to beg with his eyes, staring up at Kurt's, that had gone midnight blue so far above him.

Then it was happening. Really, really happening. Kurt anchored one hand in Blaine's hair again and the other dragged the head of his cock against Blaine's lips. Blaine opened his mouth, but the hand wouldn't let him move forward. He waited there, body bound by Kurt's command, as Kurt slid into his mouth, ever so slowly, over his tongue which stroked and lapped and thrilled to the taste of Kurt's flesh, deep into his mouth, and deeper, Blaine opened his throat and pulled against Kurt's hand until pain sang through his scalp. He didn't care. He needed Kurt inside him, down his throat, more than he needed stupid, trivial things like comfort or air.

"Behave or I'll stop," Kurt said with a sharp twist of his hand. Blaine could tell by the tremor Kurt wasn't quite able to keep out of his voice that stopping wasn't an option for Kurt anymore. But he obeyed anyhow, because obedience to Kurt was the one thing that was actually more important than that cock.

"Much better," Kurt said, and he rewarded Blaine with one deep thrust, sinking into the back of Blaine's mouth and down his throat. Blaine moaned with the pleasure of being so filled, so stretched, of finally being able to serve Kurt properly. Kurt responded to the moan with more thrusts, picking up speed until he was really, truly, officially fucking Blaine's mouth. Blaine tried to suck, to stroke with his tongue, to participate in some way but Kurt kept going faster until the only thing Blaine could do was hold his mouth open and let Kurt use him - _use him_ - take pleasure in his body as Blaine's own hands strained behind him and his cock danced and his heart felt like it would burst with happiness.

Kurt was silent - only the speed and faltering rhythm of his thrusts giving away how close he was - but Blaine moaned and whimpered and grunted and whined, anything he could think of to let Kurt know that this was everything he'd ever wanted. He was nothing now, nothing more than a vessel for Kurt's enjoyment. His body responded as Kurt's did, pleasure looming closer and closer as it did for his dom. The only difference was that Kurt was actually going to come. His release would have to suffice for both of them.

The strokes sped up to a fever pitch, fucking fast and hard, and with a whispered, "Oh God, oh God, Blaine . . ." as his only warning Kurt slammed to a stop, deep in Blaine's throat, and Blaine's hands grappled to keep their grip on his elbows as Kurt's cock trembled and spurted in his mouth and his own body shuddered wildly through Kurt's orgasm.

Blaine tried to keep Kurt there, softening so beautifully in his mouth. His own dick was so wet now that the air of the room felt cold against his flesh and the juxtaposition of Kurt's satiated cock with his needy one made him feel like everything was right in the world. But eventually Kurt slid back and Blaine gave a little, plaintive whine as it receded and left him empty.

But he wasn't empty for long. Kurt fell to his knees and the hand gripping Blaine's hair relaxed into a caress and Kurt's mouth was on his, kissing hard and deep, his tongue now fucking in and out and pulling more moans from Blaine's throat. The taste of Kurt's mouth following so closely behind the taste of his come was overwhelming and Blaine's head was swimming with the beauty of it by the time Kurt pulled back a little to smile his perfect little boy smile, eyes still so dark with the aftermath of his desire.

"I can't really believe I did that," Kurt said with a little breathless chuckle.

"I'm so glad you did," Blaine said fervently.

"I can see that." Kurt wrapped a hand around Blaine's wet cock and slid it up and down, sending pure, naked tendrils of pleasure curling in his balls and climbing up through his belly. He kissed Blaine again, still stroking, gently teasing their lips together this time, the hand that wasn't tormenting Blaine's dick sliding around his back to grip his forearms where they pressed together.

Kurt's hand kept pumping, twisting across the head of Blaine's cock over and over until he was groaning freely, trying not to thrust up into the beautiful, tight friction.

"I think you're finally as desperate as I wanted you to be tonight," Kurt said, loosening his grip so he stroked with the lightest possible touch.

"Oh, God, please say that means I can come," Blaine said, giving Kurt the best begging face he could manage. "I think this has been the longest week of my life."

Kurt laughed. "Oh sweetie, you this desperate isn't the end." He leaned in close and brushed his lips against Blaine's ear. "You this desperate," he whispered more seductively than Blaine had yet heard him be, "means we can finally begin."


	6. Saturday

The sun was already high when Kurt woke up Saturday morning, warming the room and casting everything into a sharp relief that clashed with the soft-focus images drifting across his brain's backdrop. He stretched against the cool sheets as foggy remnants of dreams faded, replaced by more tangible, but no less dreamlike, memories. Memories of Blaine, and himself, and things he could never have anticipated when they'd dragged themselves out of Breadstix after the most uncomfortable family dinner imaginable.

Everything had changed last night.

He rolled over to find Blaine stretched out on his back, breathing deep and slow, his eyelashes dark and stark against skin that glowed fairer than usual in the light caressing his face. His right arm was flung across the pillow above his head, the scarred _Kurt Hummel_ shining silver in the light. God, Kurt thought with a little surge of pride, was there any position, any state of being, in which Blaine was anything less than stunning? He'd seen him gasping with pleasure, desperate and shaking, crying, sobbing in a way that had no business being anything other than ugly. He'd seen him angry enough to spit nails, as Carole liked to say, and loose, unfocused, floating in submissive goo. He'd seen him scared to death and head-over-heels in love. And it was all equally beautiful.

Kurt pushed the comforter down to Blaine's waist, exposing his smooth chest and toned belly. He rested his hand ever so lightly on Blaine's abdomen and stroked upward over soft skin, hard ribs, strong muscle, up to his shoulder and down the biceps that Kurt didn't think he'd ever be able to get enough of. He didn't worry about waking Blaine up. He wanted to touch and he did. Whether he pulled Blaine from sleep sooner than Blaine might have liked was immaterial.

Because everything had changed last night.

Very little had gone according to plan. He hadn't planned to fuck Blaine's face (he could feel heat rise in his cheeks just thinking it to himself) while Blaine knelt on the floor in such a strict position. For that matter, he'd never expected the most extreme posture on his handout to be the one that turned him on the most. It had been the trembling. The trembling had completely overwhelmed him - the way that Blaine hadn't quite been able to hide the strain it put on his body. He knew how much Blaine hated appearing anything less than perfect, but he could also see how much that very thing turned him on. Blaine liked to be pushed, and Kurt had discovered last night that he liked pushing Blaine. Very, very much. He realized looking back that the face-fucking had been inevitable, once he'd noticed the trembling.

But, hot as it was, that hadn't been the moment everything had changed.

He hadn't planned to make Blaine serve him all night, either - he had intended to let Blaine come as soon as he'd regained the desperate state that they'd spent all week working him up to and that had been shattered by all the drama of the afternoon and evening. But Blaine's reaction to the suggestion that he needed to atone for messing up and moving when he'd been told to be still had _done_ something to Kurt. When Kurt asked Blaine if he deserved Kurt's dick in his mouth, the look on Blaine's face had been, well, repentant, for sure, but at the same time blissful.

Thomas, the male half of the couple teaching Kurt's dom class, had talked about punishment on Wednesday. Punishment, he'd said, was one of the most important ways that a dom could care for a sub. Swift, consistent, strict punishment showed a sub that the dom valued his struggle for excellence. Without punishment, Thomas had explained, the sub was lost, with no sense of the gift of his submission having value to his dom. By requiring perfection, and punishing its lack, a dominant gave a submissive order and focus and showed him how very much his dom cared about his obedience. And when perfection was achieved, earning the dom's smiling approval, loving words, a touch or reward, the rush the sub felt was better than anything imaginable. Better than an orgasm any day.

Thomas had smiled then in the face of the dismissive rumblings from all the teenage doms in the room who couldn't possibly imagine anything better than an orgasm.

If it had been Mira, the dominant of the couple, saying it then Kurt might have dismissed it as just more Rachel-like justification for doms to indulge their power kinks. But Thomas was submissive; there was no escaping the conclusion that indulging his own need to control Blaine might be exactly what Blaine would want. And last night had proven it. After Kurt had whispered to Blaine that they were only beginning, he'd stood up, motioning for Blaine to follow, and made his way into the living room. And Blaine had _crawled_ - without being told to - crawled behind him to the armchair and settled onto the cushion Kurt placed on the floor for him.

He'd moved to take up the position again but Kurt had stopped him, guiding his hands to the top of his thighs. "This is okay for now," he said, trying to keep his voice as commanding as it had been in the bedroom when he'd been too caught up in the moment to be self-conscious. The he stood up tall and gripped Blaine's chin, forcing his head back so he could look in Kurt's eyes so far above his own. "For the rest of the night you are going to follow every command I give you - exactly. And if you're absolutely perfect then maybe you'll have a chance to earn back the orgasm I was going to let you have before you screwed up."

Personally, Kurt thought it would have been hotter if he'd actually been able to bring himself to say "fucked up," but Blaine didn't seem to find anything lacking. His eyes went soft and dark and he murmured a throaty "Thank you, sir," and when Kurt let go of his chin he immediately bowed his head in the world's most perfect demonstration of obeisance.

But that hadn't been the moment either.

It had happened much later, hours later, after Kurt had watched two episodes of Hoarders and the second half of After the Thin Man, all the while sending Blaine to fetch him drinks and snacks and anything else he could come up with on such short notice with no preparation. After each foray to the kitchen or the bedroom Blaine would come to rest again at Kurt's feet, quiet and still. His erection never flagged - Kurt hadn't even thought it was possible to be hard for that long - and Kurt took advantage of the opportunity to reach down and stroke and tease it every time Blaine landed on the cushion, all the while keeping his eyes glued to the television as if Blaine was nothing but an afterthought. That was the hardest part - pretending to be indifferent when the only thing he was aware of was the quivering that Blaine was trying so hard to hold back, the way his fingers dug into the muscles of his thighs as he struggled to stay still, and the soft hitches in his breathing every time Kurt touched him. By the time the movie's end card flashed on the screen Kurt's own erection was back and getting almost as insistent as he was sure Blaine's must have been.

So he'd led Blaine to the bedroom, up onto the bed, and undressed for him, slowly, with Blaine staring at him with wide eyes and fingers clutching at the comforter as if that could somehow help him keep his hands off himself. And that's when it started, for Kurt, when he was stripping his clothes off feeling not self-conscious in the slightest because this was how it should be. Blaine _should_ be hard and desperate and forced to simply watch as Kurt offered tiny glimpses of bare skin. Blaine should wait, laid out there on the bed like an offering, trembling with the force of the knowledge that Kurt held every possibility in his hands: pain or pleasure, ecstasy or the endless, relentless frustration of _not yet_.

By the time Kurt's clothes were gone and he climbed onto the bed to straddle Blaine's thighs, the feeling of rightness was growing into something more. As he mouthed at Blaine's nipples, kissed down to his turgid cock, breathed over it then anointed it with tiny teasing licks, Kurt began to feel both insignificant and at the same time the perfect center of the universe. All sensation that wasn't_them_ melted away. His pleasure intensified – and his need grew more insistent – as time passed and Blaine's begging slowly deteriorated into whimpers and cries and sobs and ultimately one unending moan only broken when his breath ran out and he had to suck in a harsh, shuddering inhale.

The room had disappeared, everything had disappeared, and Kurt was floating in a space filled only by Blaine's straining body under his lips and hands, Blaine's noises in his ears, and his own pounding desire. He'd wondered, vaguely, with the two synapses that weren't completely occupied torturing Blaine, if there was such a thing as domspace, like the subspace his book had talked about. If there was, then he'd achieved it. The power and control he felt, and more, the sense of the absolute rightness of him having that power over the perfect submissive practically crying beneath him, was on a different plane from anything he'd ever felt before.

Then the timbre of Blaine's moans had pitched higher and Kurt decided he'd better think about that later. He needed those two synapses to make sure he didn't accidentally tip Blaine over the edge too soon.

It had felt so right, then, to straighten up, leaving Blaine thrusting against nothing, his hands effectively bound by the blanket they were twisted in, muscles from head to toe corded taut with the effort of holding off his orgasm, or maybe straining toward it, and then jerk himself, hard and fast, overwhelmed by the need to mark Blaine this way. Blaine had opened his eyes, green and gold and bottomless black, and stared at Kurt like he was some kind of god, so worshipful in spite of his burning need, and that, those eyes, that look, had been what toppled Kurt over into tearing ecstasy and he came all over his boy, his perfect, desperate Blaine. Blaine's cries became sharp and acute as Kurt's semen splashed hot across his belly and cock and balls; he thrust so hard that Kurt had to cling to Blaine's chest to keep upright as he rode out the soul-clenching orgasm that seemed like it would never end.

It had ended, of course, eventually and as Kurt fell forward over Blaine's still-writhing body his eyes fell on the purple mark on Blaine's neck. The mark he'd put there that afternoon for all the wrong reasons. He surged up and latched his mouth over it, sucking hard, renewing, transforming it, and his hand came up to circle the base of Blaine's throat, not tightening, just holding, as he worked the flesh between his teeth. Blaine's voice rose in a primal sound that could have been pleasure or pain and was probably both, and when Kurt pulled back those eyes were still there, unfocused but adoring, and he could feel Blaine's pulse racing against the base of his thumb. He caressed over it, pressed into it the tiniest bit, and said, without thinking, in a voice he hardly even recognized, "Mine."

And Blaine, Blaine who hadn't spoken a coherent word for at least half an hour, stopped thrusting and went still against the blankets, Kurt's hand heavy and possessive on his neck, eyes full of love and need and pain, and whispered back, like an incantation, "Forever."

And _that_ had been the moment. When everything changed.

Kurt had felt it, like a physical presence, like dark wind blowing through the room, carrying the knowledge, true and open-eyed, of the finality of those words. _Mine. Forever._

He'd slid his hand from Blaine's throat down his body to his cock, gripped it tight and stroked lightning fast, his own come providing lubrication, and in seconds Blaine was begging again, "Fuck, God, stop, please, I can't … please, I'm going to …" Tears began to drip from the corners of his tightly closed eyes. Tears. At just the thought of disobedience.

"Come," Kurt ordered.

Blaine came. Muscles seizing, head thrown back, sobbing incoherent syllables that might have been "fuck" or "Kurt" or some combination of the two, he came. Beautiful even in this extremis, covering himself with spurt after spurt of semen, he came. Kurt whispered in his ear, telling him how wonderful he was, what a good boy he'd been, and his hand flew over Blaine's cock, jerking hard until it's fountaining began to subside and tiny whines made their way into Blaine's gasping sobs. Only then did he slow, when it threatened to become too much, and when Blaine's body finally collapsed onto the bed he set the soft, spent cock gently on his belly.

Blaine had opened his eyes then – they still looked as dreamy and out-of-focus as Kurt felt – and pulled his lips into a tiny, lax smile before whispering, "Thank you." And Kurt had smiled back and stroked the damp curls back from Blaine's forehead and marveled at all the unexpected things he'd been and done and felt.

And now, in bright morning light, he was still marveling. Because even though he was no longer floating but firmly anchored in the reality of this morning, this bedroom, soft sheets and Blaine's body under his hand, that moment was still echoing all around him.

Mine. Forever.

Intellectually, he'd always known. Everyone knew. Subs belonged to their doms. And soulmates belonged to each other absolutely. Television, movies, novels and plays all glorified that moment when dom and sub connected and forged their bond. It had been the opening paragraph of Domming for Dummies and Mira's initial speech in dom class. A submissive wanted, needed, was fulfilled by belonging to a dominant. The greatest gifts a dominant could give a submissive were control and the opportunity to serve in every possible way. He'd known.

And he thought he'd felt it. But now he realized that he'd felt the love and connection between them, but not that particular bond of, although it still felt a little odd to think of it that way, ownership. Not completely. Not until that moment, when he'd seen what his "mine" had done to Blaine. When he'd seen the - blissful was the only way to describe it - the blissful relief of Blaine's "forever." Blaine was _his_. And the more he made Blaine his the happier Blaine was going to be. It wasn't selfish. It was his job to care for Blaine and give him what he needed. It was completely incidental that the thing that fulfilled Blaine the most happened to also be exactly what Kurt fantasized about. Or maybe it was fate. Either way, Kurt would give Blaine anything he needed. Blaine was his.

Which meant, Kurt realized with a sinking heart, that he was probably going to have to find the strength to go back to glee club. Crap.

Well that was a thought that could wait for later.

He stroked along Blaine's jaw, concentrating instead on the sandpaper rasp of stubble against his fingertips, wondering what it might feel like on other parts of his body. And as if he could read Kurt's mind, Blaine stirred, sighed gently, and without even opening his eyes turned and wrapped himself around Kurt's body, burrowing into Kurt's chest where his stubble caught at the skin just under his nipple.

Kurt shifted a little and wormed one of his legs under Blaine's, rolling him up so that he was almost completely on top. Maybe it was un-dom-like, letting his sub push him down into the mattress like this, but to Kurt it didn't feel like restraint at all. He loved taking Blaine's weight. It felt like trust, when Blaine collapsed into him this way. It made him feel strong and capable. It led his brain to places where Blaine couldn't hold himself up, where he'd been used to the point of exhaustion and knew it was safe to drop because Kurt would always catch him.

Blaine stretched a little then nestled back against Kurt with a soft hum of pleasure. "This is even better than I remembered," he said in a sleep-roughened voice.

"Waking up together?" Kurt asked as he nosed against Blaine's hair.

"Mmm-hmm. You've now officially fulfilled every fantasy I had about this weekend."

"You fantasized about me making you try out kneeling positions?"

Blaine turned his head and pressed a kiss just below Kurt's collarbone and the hand at his waist tightened into a hug. "I fantasized about you using me," he said quietly, between soft kisses across Kurt's chest. "Serving you. Naked. Kneeling." He lifted his head and the look in his eyes made Kurt's insides squirm in the best way. "You fucking my mouth, though? That was beyond anything I could have … it was amazing."

Kurt stroked the hair off Blaine's forehead in an imitation of the gesture he'd made last night, which made Blaine's smile even wider. "Well I have had a dom class," he said. "Doesn't that make me a trained professional?"

Blaine laughed brightly and snuggled back down into Kurt's chest. "If last night was anything to go by, you must be their star pupil." He reached for Kurt's hand and slid their fingers together. "Seriously, Kurt. When we pulled up here after dinner I thought the whole night was ruined. I kind of just wanted to climb in bed with you and cry. And then you just - somehow you turned it all around. You gave me exactly everything I needed." He sat up and twisted around to look at Kurt, still holding his hand, eyes full of so much emotion that Kurt was a little stunned and could only stare back at him. "I can't even - I don't even have the words to express how it felt, when you held me here -" Blaine wrapped his free hand around the base of his throat, "- and called me yours. Something happened. Inside me. Something changed."

Kurt reached up and laid his own hand over Blaine's still on his throat, caressing his thumb over the lurid purple mark that was even brighter than it had been yesterday. "I felt that too," he whispered.

"Really?"

Kurt nodded.

"It's like, there weren't any cuffs or rope or anything," Blaine said, haltingly, fumbling for the right words, "but I felt so - bound. Held, you know? Like just your words could tie me up and leave me helpless. It was - I've never felt anything like it."

Kurt slid his hand around the back of Blaine's neck and pulled himself up until he was sitting too, face inches from Blaine's, staring into brown gold eyes, their lips so close.

"It's really you and me, isn't it?" Blaine breathed. "Just us."

"Forever," Kurt said, and he pressed their lips together in a quick kiss, just to seal the deal. "As you so eloquently put it last night before you came and then passed out."

"I did not pass out!"

"You were asleep before I was done in the bathroom, Blaine. I came back with a nice warm washcloth to clean you up and you were snoring."

"I don't snore!" Blaine protested. "Do I?"

Kurt laughed and pushed playfully at Blaine's chest, knocking him backward on top of the covers. "For your punishment you can make the coffee this morning."

Blaine propped himself on his elbows and spread his legs wide, leering just a little as he displayed himself for Kurt. "Well now I know I don't snore," he said. "Because serving you could never be a punishment."

Kurt snorted as delicately as he could and nudged Blaine's ribs with his foot. "Is there a reason you're being a smartass when I'm waiting for my coffee?"

Blaine gave him one more little leer, looking up at him from under fluttering eyelashes, then slid out of bed and headed for the door. He was halfway there before Kurt realized that he was planning on staying naked. "Stop!" he ordered just as Blaine reached the door.

Blaine gave a little wiggle of his magnificent ass before he turned around and clasped his hands behind his back. "Yes, sir?" he asked, all wide-eyed innocence, as if he wasn't deliberately posing for Kurt's enjoyment.

"Be careful. Coffee's hot. And if you damage anything that's mine," Kurt let his eyes trail down Blaine's body to linger on his dick before they rose again to his face, "there _will_ be punishment."

He tried very hard to sound sincere and he must have succeeded because Blaine's body contracted in a tiny, involuntary shiver that thrilled Kurt just as much the sight of Blaine naked. "Yes sir," he said, much more sincerely, and he turned and, with one more little ass wiggle, headed out to the kitchen.

By the time the coffee was done Kurt had dug a pair of pajama bottoms out of his bag and was stretched out on Blaine's couch with one eye on a cooking show he'd found and the other on Blaine, puttering naked around the kitchen and humming a little to himself.

Blaine brought two steaming mugs into the living room, walking with exaggerated care. He had just settled on the sofa, and Kurt was taking his first sip of perfectly prepared coffee and wondering at how natural it felt to be dressed while Blaine was not, even when they weren't "scene-ing" (a word Kurt actually hated because it made sex and dominance sound like some kind of prepared performance), when Kurt's phone, which was still in the bedroom, chimed just loud enough to be heard. He reached to set his mug on the coffee table but Blaine was way ahead of him, already up and heading toward the bedroom to fetch it.

It was a text from Finn. Blaine sipped his coffee while Kurt read.

_dude, rachels here nows ur chance to corner her ill make sure she doesnt leave_

Which didn't sound at all like Finn. He must have looked puzzled, because Blaine touched his arm. "Is everything okay?" he asked.

Kurt showed him the text.

"I don't know Finn very well, but that doesn't seem like the way he'd talk about his dom."

Kurt read the text once more then sent a short reply.

_Finn?_

More than a minute passed before the phone chimed again.

_puck i stole finns phone dont have ur # now get ur ass over here b4 she figures out ur coming_

_Where's here?_ Kurt texted back.

_ur house duh._

Kurt held the phone out to Blaine and took a swig of coffee while he read. Blaine frowned a little but handed the phone back without a word. Kurt put it down on the table and returned to his coffee.

"What do you want to do?" Blaine asked finally, when the silence was just starting to get uncomfortable.

"This is our weekend," Kurt said without taking his eyes off his mug.

"Oh, God, no Kurt!" Blaine set his cup on the coffee table and scooted closer to take Kurt's and dispose of it as well. He took Kurt's hands in his own coffee-warmed ones and when Kurt looked up at him his eyes were all soft brown concern and understanding. "I know I'm greedy and impatient and pretty vocal about wanting every second of you that I can get, but we really do have our whole lives together. And this is important. She's your best friend."

"I know. I just - I know I've been trying to talk to her all week but now that I actually can it's a little …"

"Scary?" Blaine supplied.

"What if she hates you? How am I supposed to fix that? What if she's just completely jealous? What if it's something stupid and shallow and I can't do anything about it?"

Blaine smiled and squeezed Kurt's hands tighter. "She's your best friend," he repeated. "So whatever this is it has to be hurting her as much as it is you. I doubt it's stupid or shallow."

"I don't know. This is Rachel we're talking about."

"Rachel who is your best friend. There must be some reason you put up with all the crazy."

Kurt couldn't help chuckling a little at that. "Sometimes I wonder. It's a lot of crazy."

Kurt's phone chimed loud again and he grabbed it from the table.

_R U CUMMING?!_

"Noah's a strange kid," Blaine said, reading over his shoulder.

"The scary thing is he could absolutely mean that either way."

Blaine took the phone from Kurt wiggled his eyebrows at him. "Well? Are you?"

Kurt stood with a sigh and held out his hand to Blaine. "Apparently. And not in the fun way."

* * *

><p>They could hear voices before they even got to the top of the porch steps. Loud, teenage boy voices. Beside him Kurt felt Blaine's steps falter so he took his arm and pulled him gently along. "It'll be okay," he said. "It's just Finn and Puck and maybe a couple of other people. We'll say a quick hi and go find Rachel. She wouldn't be caught dead in the middle of any of their video game battles."<p>

Blaine huffed a little, like he didn't quite buy Kurt's reassurance, but he picked up the pace and stayed close by Kurt's side as they approached the door.

"A couple of other people" turned out to be Sam, sitting on the floor between Puck, in Burt's big armchair, and Finn, stretched out on the sofa. They were playing some kind of army game that seemed vaguely familiar to Kurt. Before he could even close the door Sam and Puck both shouted "NO!" so loudly that Blaine jumped. Puck reached across Sam and snatched the controller from Finn's hand.

Finn's face colored and he glared at Puck. "What? I had a clear shot!"

"Dude, I know Rachel has your balls locked up but did she take your eyes, too? My grammy would have known better than to go for that shot." He laughed at his own burn and held up his hand for Sam to high-five.

Kurt let the door slam shut behind them and all three heads turned in their direction, faces reflecting three very different emotions. Sam looked surprised. Finn looked shocked and more than a little unhappy, although Kurt had to admit that could have been because he knew Rachel was here and trying to avoid him. Puck's eyes slid very obviously over the hickey on Blaine's neck but then continued upward to grin at him like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Blaine! Excellent!" He pushed himself up over the back of the chair and gestured at Blaine, ignoring Kurt completely. "Now we can do teams and that's way better than one-on-one!"

Kurt knew he was gaping, which wasn't at all attractive, and he really needed to close his mouth, but at least Blaine's mouth was hanging open too, staring at the boy who'd never once addressed him with anything other than "Mr. A" respect.

Puck ignored their obvious surprise. "C'mon dude! We need you. It's a lot easier than Finn makes it look. You've got, like, degrees and shit, right? You'll figure it out in no time."

Blaine's eyebrows were so high up his forehead that Kurt would have laughed if Blaine hadn't been so serious, staring at Kurt and clearly hoping for a rescue. But Kurt wasn't surprised to find that he wasn't sure this was a situation that called for rescuing.

"I'm not …" Blaine said when it became apparent he was on his own, "I mean, Kurt's really the one …"

"Hummel's useless," Puck said with a dismissive wave. "He's totally lacking in the murder and mayhem department."

"Yes, I have no desire to shoot everything that moves. How will I ever live with myself?"

"Oh, there was that one time," Finn interjected, apparently over his initial reaction to seeing them, "when he and Lauren hacked the code and he changed the uniforms for us. That was helpful. The camo was way better."

"Okay, not entirely useless," Puck allowed. "But he's still not getting in the game." He gave Kurt a little pleading look, as if he hadn't just dismissed him completely. "Come on, Hummel. Make your boy play with us. It'll be good for him. He can get out some of his – frustrations."

Puck wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, leaving no doubt about what frustrations he was referring to. But when Blaine silently appealed to Kurt for help again half of Kurt's brain was too stuck on the fact that Puck had called him_your boy_ to respond. The other half was maybe starting to see the method in Puck's madness, and he was a little scared that it was making sense to him.

"It is way more fun with teams," Sam said, eyes darting from Kurt to Blaine like he wasn't sure who he should be trying to convince.

Kurt turned and smiled at Blaine, a reassuring smile, he hoped. "You should play. It'll give you something to do while I find Rachel." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Finn's glance up at him and then away at the mention of Rachel's name. "And you can get to know my friends."

Blaine still looked a little bit like a spooked horse – there was more white around the edges of his eyes than there should be. But Kurt squeezed his arm and nodded and Blaine gave a little sigh then turned toward the couch where Finn was still sprawled.

But before he could take two steps Puck jumped up from the armchair. "Cool. Sit here. You and Sam can be a team." He moved to the couch and unceremoniously dumped Finn's legs onto the floor. "Finncapable here'd probably shoot himself in the foot without me to look out for him."

"Hey!" Finn protested, although Kurt wasn't sure if he was protesting the insult or just being manhandled.

"Besides, doms against subs would just be totally unfair."

"Being a sub didn't keep me from beating your ass yesterday!"

"In Mario Kart, Finn. All you have to do is sit in the cart."

"And steer the cart!"

"My point is it's not -"

While they bickered, Blaine gave Kurt a pained look but made his way to Burt's armchair and sat down. Sam smiled in a crooked, awkward way and handed him a controller with a quiet, "I'm Sam, by the way."

"Blaine," Blaine answered.

"I know," Sam nodded. "Have you ever played this before?"

Blaine shot another look at Kurt, then turned his attention back to Sam. "I, uh, I used to play Doom when I was a kid."

Sam's face lit up, apparently relieved that they'd found some common ground. "Well this is just like that! Except the graphics are way better. And this isn't a computer game so all the controls are different. But I'm sure you'll get it right away." He scooted a little closer and started pointing out the various buttons and explaining their functions.

Puck was still arguing with Finn; he looked up at Kurt long enough to jerk his chin in the direction of the kitchen door. Kurt headed that way, but paused in the doorway and turned back just for a moment to watch Blaine, his dark head bent toward Sam's fair one, nodding solemnly as Sam explained how to work the controller. When Puck's eyes met his again, Kurt mouthed a silent "_thank you_." Puck just shrugged, but for some reason Kurt could read exactly what he meant with that shrug. _All part of the awesome_.

So Kurt was actually laughing a little when he headed down the little hall toward the kitchen, although his heart was starting to race with anticipation. He was usually good at this kind of thing. Good at attacking people, when he needed to, and tearing down their arguments. But this was Rachel, and with Rachel things always seemed so complicated. He would go in loaded for bear but somehow find himself comforting her, his own hurt feelings forgotten. He usually ended up hating himself for getting caught up in the Rachel pity party, but that never seemed to stop it from happening. The girl had the emotional gravity of a black hole.

Well not this time. Kurt wasn't going to apologize for his happiness and he sure as hell wasn't going to apologize for Blaine. If she wanted to be selfish and petty and jealous then she was going to find herself minus one friend by the time this conversation was over. Kurt held onto that thought like chain mail armor. He'd done nothing wrong.

He found Carole in the kitchen, alone, wiping down the counter with something that smelled bright and citrusy sharp. She looked up at the sound of the door and her smile widened when she spotted Kurt.

"Hey, honey. I didn't expect to see you this weekend. Is Blaine with you?"

"The guys stole him to play video games with them," Kurt said, jerking his head back toward the living room, where he could still hear Finn, Sam and Puck exclaiming over the game.

Carole dropped her sponge by the sink and dried her hands on the dishtowel she had flung over her shoulder. "Well that's a good sign, right? I mean, Finn could barely speak to him last night."

Kurt shrugged. "Right," he said, obviously less enthusiastically than Carole expected.

"Is everything okay?" she asked.

"I'm just - have you seen Rachel? Puck said she might be in here."

Carole gave him a knowing smile. "She bolted out the back door the minute she heard your voice. Are you two fighting? Because I've never seen Rachel run away from anyone. She usually runs toward trouble."

Kurt laughed a little, but only because Carole seemed to expect it, and went to peek out the window over the back door. He could just see Rachel at the far end of the yard, under the elm tree on the wide gliding couch Burt had installed so that he and Carole could sit out and look at the stars. She had her back to the house, her knees drawn up to her chest in a very un-Rachel-like attempt to make herself small. Kurt must have made a noise, because Carole appeared at his side and settled a hand on his shoulder.

"You are fighting. Oh, honey, what happened?"

Kurt shook his head. "I don't even know. She's barely said a word to me since she found out about Blaine. And she hides from me whenever I try to talk to her."

Carole just looked at him for a minute, and Kurt got the feeling that she wanted to say something, but she must have decided against it because she reached out and turned the handle to open the door. "Well you've got her cornered now. Might as well make the most of it."

"Right." Kurt took a deep breath to try to quiet his nerves, and stepped through the door, with a little helpful shove from Carole's hand on his shoulder. The click of the latch as she closed the door sounded much too loud in his ears, but Rachel didn't move so either she didn't hear or she was just hoping he'd go away. He crossed the yard slowly, and she must have heard him, he certainly wasn't trying to be stealthy, but she still didn't turn around. Which was good, because the more she ignored him the angrier Kurt got. And a little righteous indignation was never a bad thing when going into an argument with Rachel Berry.

She stayed silent, her eyes fixed on the ivy-covered fence that separated their yard from the Mulligans next door, as he settled next to her on the glider and pulled his own feet up in a mirror image of her defensive posture. He waited for her to say something – surely she should be the one to speak to him; it wasn't like he'd been the one avoiding her for an entire week.

But not surprisingly Rachel didn't seem inclined to do what she should. She sat, huddled in her sweater, hugging her knees, and didn't even turn her head to look at him. And the longer she was silent the angrier Kurt became. Did she honestly think ignoring him would make him go away? As far as Kurt could see, he hadn't done anything to piss her off except meet his soulmate, and he could hardly be blamed for that. Fate chose the time. She'd told him that herself.

"So how long are you going to sit there and pretend I'm not here?" he asked finally, when he couldn't take the silence any more.

Rachel didn't answer. In fact, she gave no sign that he'd even spoken at all. Well at least that answered his question.

"Alright, fine. I don't know what bug crawled up your ass, Rachel Berry, but this is low even for you. This is probably the most important thing that will ever happen in my life and you're supposed to be my best friend and you can't even pretend that you're happy for me?"

She looked at him then, turned sharp and fast and stared at him with wide, shocked eyes. "You think I'm not happy for you?"

Kurt gaped at her. "How do you even have the gall to look surprised? You've hardly spoken to me all week! You were so excited when you thought I'd met someone and as soon as you found out it was Blaine you just . . disappeared. You won't talk to me. You barely even look at me. What am I supposed to think?" She turned away from him again, buried her face in the arms that were wrapped around her knees, and Kurt stuck his foot out and gave the swing a frustrated shove. They both sat in silence as it rocked.

Kurt knew he should just get up and go back into the house. He was only feeding whatever narcissistic bee Rachel had in her bonnet. But he needed to know. He knew it would drive him crazy if he couldn't figure it out. "Is it New York?" he asked as the swinging drifted to a stop. "I mean, I know we talked about getting a place together there after we graduate and this kind of messes that up, but, he's my soulmate, Rachel. And it's not like I planned this. No one could have seen this coming."

"It's not New York," she said into her arms.

"Then is it - Blaine? If you have some kind of problem with him at least have the courage to say it to my face. Or if you're jealous -"

She looked at him again, surprised, again, and Kurt was really starting to get tired of the guessing game.

"Oh God, I'm not jealous Kurt! At least, not in the way you think."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? You're not making any sense, Rachel." Kurt gave the swing another hard push. "My life's turned completely upside-down in the last week and I'm doing all these things I never imagined I could do and it's scary, okay? It's scary and exciting and I need my best friend. I need someone I can talk to. And I don't need to be sitting here playing twenty questions with you to try and figure out what kind of stick you've got up your butt."

Rachel's eyes filled with tears at that, but Kurt held fast to the glider's edge, fingers digging into the cushion. He wasn't going to be sucked in. Not this time. Rachel was going to have to deal with her own crazy.

The tears didn't spill over, though. That surprised Kurt. Rachel usually didn't hesitate to cry buckets if she thought it'd win her some sympathy. She just looked at Kurt, with a kind of lost puppy expression, but she kept herself under control.

"Can I tell you something?" she finally asked in a quiet voice.

"That's kind of what I've been asking you to do," Kurt answered.

She turned away from him and looked back at the fence. "Finn's not my soulmate."

"I know," Kurt confessed with a sigh. Rachel's head snapped back to stare at him. "He told me the day I met Blaine. I was sort of freaking out and he was helping me and it just kind of came out."

"He never told me you knew."

"Well, now you have something to punish him for so, bright side?" Kurt quipped, but Rachel didn't so much as twitch an eyebrow at his attempted joke.

"I just - I love Finn so much. I can't imagine loving anyone more than I love him. What we have, it's real Kurt."

"Of course it is." Kurt reached for her hands automatically, and by the time he realized what he'd done it was too late, she was gripping his fingers like a lifeline and there was no way to gracefully pull away.

"And it's never seemed like - like it was less, you know?" she said, and at least she was really looking at him now and trying to be sincere. "Because he's not my soulmate. I've never felt like there was anything missing. And I know what everyone thinks - Rachel Berry, always making everything about herself and they're right. They are. Because you're my best friend in the world and you found your soulmate and all I can think about is -" she took a deep breath and the tears brimming in her eyes finally spilled over and down her cheeks, "- all I can think about is that if I look at you, if I really see you - how happy you are with Blaine and how perfect you two are together - that I'll see what's missing. For us. I'll see how it could be different and maybe he won't feel like enough anymore and what the hell am I supposed to do then, Kurt?"

She pulled one of her hands out of his to wipe at her face. He kept the other held tight.

"Oh my God, Rachel. I didn't even think -"

"Don't do that!" She pointed her damp finger at him and gave him what must have been meant to be a glare. "I don't deserve sympathy. I'm a terrible friend."

"Yes you are, but not because of this," he said, and then laughed a little at the indignant look she gave him. "So that's why you've been avoiding me? Because you were scared?"

"You just - you don't know what it's like to know that the person who feels like the love of your life - isn't." She shook her head. "I mean, I've known since the beginning that Finn wasn't the one. But I guess the whole soulmate thing seemed so far away that it didn't really matter. But then you met Blaine and it all got so real, you know? Your soulmate just walked into class one day and that means mine could be anywhere. I could meet him tomorrow and I guess it just never felt that real to me before." She sniffed very inelegantly then gave a little shrug. "Maybe I should never have gotten involved with Finn in the first place. Maybe I should have just waited for _him_." She looked down at the cuff on her left wrist, stroked it gently with the tips of her fingers."

"No, Rachel. You can't put your life on hold waiting for your soulmate. You're the one who told me that. It happens when it's supposed to happen. Blaine spent almost fourteen years waiting for me. And that's a really long time to be alone. You don't want to do that to yourself." Kurt touched her fingers, which still rested on the brown leather. "_He_ wouldn't want you to do that to yourself."

"All I want is to love Finn. And be happy."

"Then do it. Don't let what-ifs stop you from having what you want. That's no way to live. And it certainly doesn't sound like anything Rachel Berry would do."

She sniffed again and gave him a watery smile. "I don't deserve you."

"No you don't," he agreed. "Aren't you lucky that you've got me anyhow?"

She unbent completely then, and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. "So lucky," she whispered in his ear. "And I'm really so happy for you Kurt," she said as she settled back again. "I really mean that. If anyone deserves this, it's you. And I'm sorry. I should have been there for you."

"You're forgiven. This once. But I expect at least a month of perfect best friend behavior in exchange."

She held up her pinky and he wrapped his own around it and shook. But when she tried to let go he kept it gripped tight.

"Look, I don't know how to fix this," he said, "but I need you, Rach. And I think you need me too. So how about you promise to try not to compare you and Finn to anyone else, including me and Blaine, and I'll promise to hold back on the rhapsodizing about how perfect my boyfriend is?"

Her smile widened and she nodded. "I think I can live with that. Although, a little rhapsodizing might be okay. I wouldn't mind knowing what that ass looks like without pants on it."

"I thought the whole idea was to _not_ make Finn seem inadequate."

She laughed and smacked him on the arm, and when he stood up and held out his hand she took it and let him lead her back toward the house. But she pulled him back before they reached the door.

"You'll come back to glee now, right? Since we're okay?"

Kurt sighed. "I didn't quit because of us, Rach."

"Not completely, I know. But we were still part of it, weren't we? You were upset because we didn't really accept you and Blaine. But I'll help, Kurt. I'll talk to everybody and I can totally lead by example. It'll be so much better, I swear. Please?"

She batted her eyes and him and begged very impressively for someone as domininant as she was.

"I've taken it under advisement," Kurt conceded. "But I'm not making any decision today."

She bounced a little and looked so smug that he felt obligated to add, "That's not a yes."

"It will be!" she sang as she bounded up the steps and pulled open the back door.

"Rachel!" He chased after her, trying to be severe but laughing a little in spite of himself. It just felt so good to have her back, and tormenting him in the usual ways. When they tumbled into the kitchen Carole's face lit up at the sight of them.

"Well this looks hopeful," she said.

Rachel grinned at her and dragged Kurt though the kitchen. He gave Carole a helpless shrug as he was pulled toward the door. The boys' voices were still echoing through the house but now he could hear Blaine's blending in with them and they entered the room just in time to see Blaine and Sam high-five each other without even taking their eyes off the television screen, while Finn groaned and Puck punched him in the arm.

"Hey! What was that for?"

"For being an idiot!"

"Are you kidding me? No one could have dodged that shot!"

"Stop manhandling my boyfriend, Noah!"

Everyone looked up when Rachel spoke, but Kurt didn't see if anyone reacted to the sight of him and Rachel together. He could really only see Blaine, who smiled back at him with sparkling eyes and cheeks flushed with effort or excitement. Blaine's eyes flickered to Rachel then back to Kurt, and yes, they were definitely psychic because he could read the question as plain as if Blaine had actually asked it. He gave a tiny nod, and Blaine's smile got even wider.

"It's about time you two made up," Puck said, ignoring Rachel's order. "You're both hard enough to put up with when you're happy."

Rachel went to perch on the arm of the sofa next to Finn and Kurt followed her example, settling beside Blaine and rubbing his back. Blaine was still smiling at Kurt when something exploded on the screen and Puck shouted triumphantly.

"Dude, the game!" Sam reached for Blaine's controller and shoved it back into his hands.

"Sorry," Blaine said. He turned his attention back to the screen.

"I mean, I know you're in love and all, but there's a time and a place, you know? If you're not one hundred percent committed, we're both dead meat. Got it?"

"Got it," Blaine nodded. "One hundred percent."

"All right! Let's wreak some havoc!"

Kurt kept his hand on Blaine's back, where he could feel the muscles tense and relax as Blaine worked the game controller. He looked around at his friends, Rachel, looking at Finn in much the same way that he must have been looking at Blaine, Puck, who he was starting to feel an irrational desire to hug, Sam, who Kurt knew from experience tended to take people at face value without passing judgment, and Blaine, who somehow looked very much at home in this crazy group.

It wasn't at all the Saturday he'd had planned – which was starting to feel like a theme – but it was kind of perfect just the same.


	7. Sunday

He watched them from the far corner of the food court, hidden between a support pillar painted the ugliest shade of orange anyone had ever seen and the always insanely long line at the Panda Express counter. The pizza he'd bought when he'd been hungry, before he spotted them, sat untouched, marking the plate underneath it with a grease stain that had darkened the paper almost all the way to its fluted edges.

He'd noticed them as soon as he'd settled at the tiny table. It was obvious, even with their backs to him. There was no mistaking the way Hummel moved, swishing through the maze of tables like he was in the middle of goddamned San Francisco or something, like there was absolutely nothing to fear from acting like that, here. His belly twisted with the usual tangle of emotions that any glimpse of Kurt brought, especially now that they'd both gotten their marks. But he was used to that. If it had just been Kurt he could have settled back, forced his eyes to focus somewhere else, and eaten his pizza in peace.

But trailing along after him, balancing two trays of food as he dodged around tables in Kurt's wake, was Mr. Anderson.

When Kurt had finally picked a table Mr. Anderson managed to set both trays down and pull out a chair for Kurt with perfect ease and grace, as if he'd been doing this stuff all his life. Which he probably had, since he was old and hardly a blushing virgin. And now they sat there, nibbling food, talking, sometimes laughing. From where he sat he could see both their faces in profile; he had a perfect view of every time Kurt smiled at something Mr. Anderson said, or brushed his fingers over the black leather on his sub's wrist, or touched his hand, completely oblivious, it seemed, to the fact that they were in public. In a mall in Lima where anyone and everyone could see just what was going on between them.

But that had always been Hummel's problem. He never seemed to understand how very much there was to fear.

* * *

><p>The biggest secret in Dave Karofsky's life wasn't the fact that the name burned into his skin under the cuff he wore cinched extra tight around his right wrist belonged to a boy. It wasn't even the things that had happened to him on the day that name had appeared on his body, marking him forever in more ways than the obvious. No, the very biggest secret Dave was keeping was that his mom and dad weren't soulmates.<p>

The didn't know he knew. His mom wore a black cuff like any other claimed sub; she had for as long as Dave could remember. As far as Dave knew all of their friends believed they were soulmates. They put on a perfect show in public, that was for sure. They could out-soulmate Azimio's parents, and that was saying something. And when he was little Dave didn't question the occasional strained silences and slammed doors. He'd kind of figured that was how things were; that when he left his friends' houses their parents sometimes retreated to opposite sides of their houses too, one leaving a room as soon as the other entered it. It was their life, and Dave didn't know any different. But the older he got the more the cracks started to show. He had watched, not understanding, as normal displays of affection, love, even dominance became fewer. As years went by they both filled their time with anything but each other.

For his mother it was religion. She found some strange apocalyptic church and went twice a week, bringing home tracts for him to read on the evils of a wide variety of things including, Dave could never let himself forget, homosexuality. Once she'd forced him to go with her and it had horrified him to watch her, almost unrecognizable, transported with some fierce emotion he didn't understand as the preacher filled the high-ceilinged sanctuary with echoing visions of joyous reunions with dead loved ones and reveling in the cries of the damned as they received their well-deserved eternal tortures.

Afterward there were refreshments in the church basement and his mother had pulled him around the room introducing him with pride to old ladies nibbling pound cake and sipping punch and smiling sweetly at him as if they hadn't just been amen-ing the idea of anyone not exactly like them suffering the pastor's excruciatingly detailed fates.

Sometimes at night, though, the light of religious fervor behind his mom's eyes would go out and on those nights she'd lock herself in the guest room for hours. He could hear her, when he passed on his way to bed, rooting through the boxes they kept in the closet, sometimes crying, and once he'd found a half-empty bottle of rum on the closet floor that she must have forgotten to put away before she stumbled to her own bed.

Dave's dad never acknowledged any of this, which confused Dave. Even as a kid he'd known that submissives needed to feel safe and cared for and as far as he could see his dad didn't really try to care for his mom in any of the ways that people on TV talked about. But (and this would bother him when he was older, looking back) he didn't really dwell too much on his dad's shortcomings because while his mother lost herself in God, his dad lost himself in Dave. And like any little boy, Dave had loved the attention and never questioned the reason for it. They would spend hours throwing the football in the backyard, watching games on television, working shoulder-to-shoulder on school projects and stopping for ice cream after Little League practice. He hadn't ever thought about how this must look to his mom, when he was a kid, and now that he was old enough to understand he mostly tried not to think about how the impenetrable wall of their relationship might have added to her withdrawal from the world.

But really, even with the slamming doors and long silences across their beautifully set dining room table, Dave would have told anyone that he'd had a completely normal, happy childhood. Nobody's family was perfect, obviously, but on the whole, he would have said, his parents' problems hadn't affected him in any way that mattered.

Then Azimio's oldest brother Donathon had gotten his mark. He'd been the first, of any kids they knew, and the first time Dave saw him with the shiny cuff wrapped around his left wrist the strangest feeling had settled heavy and cold in his belly. It was part dread, part fear, but there was something else, something he'd never felt before that made him want to crawl right out of his skin and find someone else to be. He practically ran out of Azimio's house, shouting apologies and something about feeling sick, and pedaled his bike home as hard as he could, as if he could outrun the feeling, or sweat it out of his pores. But there was no way to escape, he lay panting on his bed feeling it roll through his body - he couldn't have said if it was physical or emotional he just desperately wanted it to give up its hold and let him go back to being the clueless, happy kid he'd been before.

The Feeling - he eventually came to think of it that way, like a title, the name of an alien creature that lay dormant between his muscles and his skin waiting for some stray word or thought to wake it up, roaring - eventually went away. But it would come back, over and over, blindsiding him with its own special combination of vertigo and revulsion, any time Dave was reminded that his fate wasn't in his own hands at all. That some day his body would betray him, mark him with the name of a person, one person who would hold his only chance at happiness in her hands. Or his hands, he'd admitted to himself, after his body betrayed him in another, completely unexpected way. One shot. One person who was supposed to be his everything in a way no one else could be. And if it didn't quite work out that way, well then he'd be as fucked as his parents because no one better was ever going to come along.

It was his Nana who finally spilled the beans.

"I told your father right to his face, it was too soon. But nobody wanted to listen to me and now look how it all turned out."

They were eating dinner at her country club, the summer before his junior year, just months before his mark appeared, although he didn't know that at the time, of course. Dave was picking at his lamb and staring at the old couples shuffling across the dance floor to the standards the piano player was cranking out, waiting out his Nana's annual raking over of all his mother's faults. Dave loved his Nana, more than anyone else except maybe his dad; he loved how sharp and funny and critical she could be. His mother always said there were only three things his Nana cared about: herself, her only son, and her only grandson. But as one of those three, Dave was inside the golden circle, sharing her privileged vantage point. He always looked forward to the summer weeks he'd spent with her in Tampa ever since he'd been old enough to fly down by himself, and he was always happy to join in the attack on whatever target crossed her sights, whether it was lamenting Aunt Pauline and her ten cats - "David, I honest to God thought someone had died and been left to rot, the smell was that bad" - or debating with herself whether Anderson Cooper was still a reliable source of hard news now that it had become clear he was "one of the boys."

The price Dave paid for all the things he loved about his Nana was having to sit through at least one conversation about his mother. LIke most self-absorbed people, Nana always assumed that her opinions were shared by everyone and so it never seemed to occur to her that going on at length about all of his mother's "mental problems" might make Dave just a little uncomfortable. He'd learned years ago that the best way to deal with it was with nods and grunts and a quick grab at any more mutual target that might present itself. So he watched the dancing couples and nodded and waited and almost missed it when Nana said, "I'm his mother, of course I wanted him to be happy. And poor Miranda hadn't been dead a year. I'm sorry, but you don't get over losing a soulmate that fast. I don't care who you are, you just don't."

Dave's eyes flew back to her and he didn't quite manage to hide his surprise, but she chose that moment to drain her Canadian Club, giving him time to knock his fork onto the floor and dive under the table before she noticed his reaction.

"Just leave it, the girl'll get it," she commanded and by the time he righted himself she was snapping to get the waitress' attention and he had his face under control again.

"Miranda was such a lovely girl," she kept on, as the waitress collected her empty glass and replaced his fallen fork. "Has your dad ever shown you pictures of her?"

She thought he knew. That his parents would have been honest with him. She assumed they'd told him that they weren't soulmates.

He cut a piece of lamb into a perfect square with surgical precision and murmured, just before he shoved it into his mouth, "He doesn't really like to talk about it."

And that was all it took. His Nana loved telling people things they didn't know, and the entire story spilled out of her interrupted only by the occasional busboy, waitress, and eventually their dessert.

His father had found Miranda when he was nineteen. They'd gotten engaged at 21. And at 22 Miranda got cancer. "The same kind that actor had," Nana said solemnly, as if that made it all more impressive. His father had been a saint, according to his grandmother, going to every appointment, holding Miranda's hand through surgeries and treatments, bringing her home to die in his arms in her own bed instead of in a cold, sterile hospital. Of course he had. She was his soulmate.

His parents had met, from what he could gather, at some kind of soulmate loss support group. Nana was much less clear on what had happened to his mother's soulmate, being naturally completely uninterested. She did know he died young, before they'd even had a chance to meet. "It was a drunk driver, I think. Or maybe he was the drunk driver. In any case, someone was drunk. I'll never understand people who can't control themselves," she said, downing another Canadian Club in two long swallows. "The boy's parent's tracked her down. They gave her a picture or something. I can't imagine why she was going to a support group. She never even knew him. How traumatic could it have possibly been? Now your poor father, on the other hand . . ."

But Dave had heard enough. He watched yet another elderly couple spinning on the dance floor to some old song about smiling shadows, fighting against The Feeling while he waited for her to drift onto some other topic.

Much later, as he lay in his bed in Nana's guest room and stared at the dark ceiling, he made a promise to himself. He wasn't going to do it. He couldn't stop his mark from appearing, but he could certainly control himself. Fate could go fuck itself. He wasn't going to be its bitch like his parents were. Dom or sub, straight or gay, it didn't matter. He wasn't going to love anyone. Ever.

* * *

><p>He wanted to get up and leave. Just toss his pizza and walk away. It was a miracle they hadn't spotted him and if any of his friends found him skulking behind a pillar staring at Hummel and his boyfriend, well, that was exactly the kind of exposure he spent his life trying to avoid. But every time he told himself he was out of there, every time he reached for his cold pizza fully intending to chuck it and leave, Kurt would move or smile or Mr. Anderson would duck his head so submissively, and he'd find himself rooted to his chair, pizza forgotten again. They screamed soulmates. Anyone could see what they were, sitting there touching and smiling and apparently not giving a rat's ass that people were looking. Judging. He couldn't understand how they could sit there, wrapped up in nothing but each other. He couldn't understand why they weren't afraid.<p>

Maybe it was the sub hormones he was now living with, but Dave really believed he hadn't ever meant to be the kind of bully he'd become with Kurt. He was an alpha jock, no doubt, and he was always going to claim the kind of privilege being in that position brought. High school had a social order and he was happy to stay in his place as long as everyone else stayed in theirs. A few threats on his part, a little cowering on his victims', and everyone knew where they stood.

And looking back now from this new perspective that he was still trying to get used to, he could see that that had been the problem all along. Kurt didn't cower. If Kurt had ever been afraid, properly afraid of what he was and what that meant, like any normal person would be, then maybe everything would have been different. But none of his usual moves ever worked with Hummel. Even after months of threats, locker slams, the occasional fist in the face, Dave had never seen fear in Kurt's eyes. Anger, humiliation, pain, sadness, even pleading on occasion, but not fear. All the things that Dave himself knew it was necessary to fear, the things you could lose, the things that could be done to you, the things that just the thought of could give The Feeling free rein of Dave's body until he dug his fingernails into his skin just to try and distract himself from the sensation; Kurt didn't seem to be scared of those things at all. And that was unacceptable. There was no way in this or any other universe that Kurt Hummel was stronger and braver than David Karofsky.

But it seemed the more Dave made it his mission to show Kurt what he had to fear, the gayer Kurt got, dressing up in those crazy outfits, being "out" (God, Dave hated that word), flaunting himself, really, and his ridiculous confidence right in Dave's and everyone else's faces. And the stronger Kurt seemed, the more the need grew, dark and powerful inside Dave's head, to make him fear. They way any person in his position should. The way Dave did every fucking day. If he hadn't been marked when he was, Dave really didn't know what he might have been capable of. It only gave him another thing to fear, but at least his submissive hormones had changed someone's life for the better.

He was staring so hard at the micro-movements of their hands, just barely touching where they rested on the table, Kurt's pale fingers standing out stark against Mr. Anderson's darker ones, that it startled him badly when they both pushed away from the table and stood up. His heart hammered and he was sure he'd been caught, but Mr. Anderson began to clear their table and Dave realized they were moving on. He grabbed his cold pizza slid from his chair, tossing it in the trash can behind his pillar, keeping it carefully between himself and them as he pretended to check his phone and waited to see what direction they walked in.

They moved away from him, heading down the mall toward Macy's, and that was definitely his cue to retreat the opposite way. But his feet didn't seem to be getting the message. He found himself walking along behind them, using a big group of giggling teenage girls as a shield. He watched from around and between their bouncing heads as Kurt and Mr. Anderson walked, not holding hands but close enough that Dave could see the backs of their fingers brush against each other from time to time. When Kurt stopped to check out something in a shop window he had to duck into the only available cover - the tiny alcove around an employee service door - and he was sure he'd be seen, but after only a moment Mr. Anderson leaned up and whispered something in Kurt's ear, making Kurt giggle and blush a little, and they moved on.

His group of girls had passed them by then and he had to hang back further; if either one of them turned around he'd be screwed. But they didn't and he sighed with relief when they reached the department store with all of its racks of clothing and display cases to hide behind. Dave didn't even know why he was still following them. He figured they'd just wander around until Kurt found something ridiculous to buy, but they made a beeline for the accessories department, Dave still trailing along.

Cuffs. As they got close Mr. Anderson actually took Kurt's hand and pulled him along and Kurt laughed - Dave was now close enough that he could hear the high-pitched ring of it - and let himself be led toward the shelves of shining leather in various shades of brown and black. Dave slipped in behind the wallet display and tried to crush The Feeling, but attempts to fight it off with slow, deep breaths only filled his lungs with the smell of leather, which made everything worse. He needed to leave, just get the hell away from leather and Hummel and his stupid soulmate, but he realized that he'd trapped himself in a corner - the only way out was past, and Kurt and Mr. Anderson were facing out now, there was no way they wouldn't see him.

So he did the only thing he could, he waited, digging his nails into his arm to try and distract himself, and watched as Mr. Anderson, whose face he could see from where he was hiding, picked up cuff after cuff and handed them to Kurt like offerings, with the strangest smile on his face. Kurt dutifully held each one up against his white skin, even the neon green neoprene swimming cuff Mr. Anderson handed him with a laugh. Eventually Mr. Anderson picked one final cuff and handed it to Kurt, saying something that Dave couldn't hear, and then he forgot all about The Feeling as he watched Kurt's long fingers reach to cup Mr. Anderson's cheek, and stroke slowly down along his jaw and over the point of his chin, just brushing the curve of his bottom lip.

* * *

><p><em>In the dream he's screaming. Loud, blood-curdling screams as he's forced onto his back on a table, encased from neck to ankle in tight, lung-compressing rubber, blindfolded, and fighting for his life. Hands are on him, only one pair but they're strong, superhuman, and seem to be everywhere, trapping his limbs against the hard metal surface and strapping them tightly down, one by one, despite his frantic struggles. He's never been so terrified, screaming for his life, sometimes "No," sometimes without words at all, but the other person never speaks. He moves calmly, Dave's struggles don't seem to perturb him in the slightest, and soon he's completely immobile, bound painfully tightly to the table, only able to move his head.<em>

_He screams his frustration, his fear, his humiliation, keeps screaming even as a rubber ball is forced into his mouth and straps are buckled tightly at the back of his head. He screams through the gag, screams as the hands disappear and his sudden aloneness is even more frightening than whatever they had planned for him, screams until the rubber suit constricts tighter around his struggling torso and his head starts to swim, until the sound of his own blood rushes through his ears and he has to stop or he's going to pass out._

_The second he stops, the second his body collapses lax on the table, all the fight driven out by the simple need for air, the hands are back, one pressing flat against his chest like reassurance, the other stroking warm bare fingers along his jaw, light as a feather around the curve of his ear, then back to cup his cheek in the gentlest of caresses. And he hates it, loathes that implacable hand, but God help him, he leans into its softness, tries to give it what it wants, makes the tiniest begging noise in the back of his throat._

_"Shhhh."_

_The whisper is barely audible against his ear, he feels it more than hears it, and then the hands are gone but he stays still, anchored by the phantom sensations on chest and cheek._

_And then the pain begins._

_He screams again, he can't help it, screams and keeps screaming as electrodes attached to all his most sensitive places under the tight suit send God knows how many volts of bright fiery agony through his balls, his feet, his nipples and the head of his cock, which pushes, hard despite his pain and fear, or maybe because of it, against the encasing rubber. His body struggles against the bonds that hold it, beyond his control now, fighting like a panicked animal to escape the torture._

_No sound comes from his tormentor. No touch. No sign that his pain serves any purpose at all._

_He screams until his voice breaks, until he can't breathe again, until his strength is gone and his body falls limp for a second time against the metal table. And still it continues, unendurable, until all he can do is sob, tears pooling around his eyes and trickling down under the blindfold, and take it._

_Then the hand comes back. It presses hard against his cock, through the rubber, squeezes and pulls and pinches and it's not pleasure, it's really only more pain, but he can feel his balls pulling up tight as a new kind of intensity starts to compete with the pain for his attention. He's going to come, it's right there and he hates it, he doesn't want any of this, he's too terrified to be so turned on but the hand is rubbing hard and fast, jostling the electrode that's tormenting his cock, and he's thrusting against it, fighting the straps that hold him for a new reason, because it hurts so much and nothing has ever felt so good._

_And then, when he's seconds from exploding in the most intense orgasm he's ever had, it all stops. The hand disappears. The electricity is gone, aftershocks shiver through his muscles, and his cock is left trapped, still so hard, and he doesn't know if his tears are from relief or desperation._

_"Shhh."_

_The not-really-a-voice breathes in his ear again and his body responds to it like a command, all the fight and need and pushing for more disappears and he collapses for a third time, still, waiting to be whatever his master wants him to be next._

_Then the hand comes back, cradling his cheek, thumb caressing the length of his jaw, around the point of his chin, and he nuzzles into it without reservation, desperate to feel his touch._

_The other hand presses against his cock, rubbing hard like before, sharp friction that's just this side of painful. And then, as his pleasure builds again toward that irresistible peak, for the first time his master speaks and it's the voice that sends him over the edge into ecstatic oblivion - a gentle voice pitched so high that it might be a girl's, although Dave knows it's not._

_"Good boy."_

* * *

><p>It only took a moment, that tiny caress; Kurt and Mr. Anderson moved on to the cashier desk and had almost completed their transaction before Dave realized that The Feeling was gone. He didn't notice whether anyone else reacted to such an open display of affection between two guys. He didn't even notice whether the saleslady reacted at all to the two of them buying a cuff. He almost missed it when Mr. Anderson took the bag from her and they headed deeper into the store. He had to scramble to keep them in sight, but he did it, hovering again just far enough back, shivering a little when Kurt turned Mr. Anderson toward the men's shoe department with a casual hand on his back.<p>

* * *

><p>It was a cliché, of course, that everyone said their lives changed on the day they got their mark, but in Dave's case it was true in ways that still left him feeling unsettled and confused when he thought about them too closely.<p>

It was a Sunday, thank God, late last October, and the weather was warm enough that he had his bedroom window open to let in the breeze that smelled of dying leaves, watching some football game that had seemed really important to him at the time, at least until he realized that he'd been scratching the same itch on his wrist for the since half time and they were now deep into the third quarter.

His right wrist.

Heat surged under his skin with sudden and overwhelming force, and he rushed to lock his bedroom door but threw the window wider; he felt like without the cooling fall breeze he might go right up in flames. He cranked the volume on the TV and fell onto his bed, staring at his wrist as if it could tell him this was just a false alarm. But even as badly as he was shaking he could see the tiny, disconnected welts starting to raise under his skin.

It was happening.

He was submissive.

It was the one thing he'd never thought to fear. Not the he'd automatically assumed he'd be dominant; he'd been far too busy trying to avoid the knowledge that someday he'd be marked at all to give much thought to his actual designation. And it wasn't even that big a deal, he told himself, hell, Finn was submissive and he was captain of the football team. Being submissive was normal, no one would give him crap and if they did he'd kick their ass. Simple as that. He wasn't going to participate in any of this anyhow, he'd decided that long ago. It really didn't matter if he was a dom or a sub.

So why couldn't he stop shaking?

The thing was, he was pretty sure Finn had a girl's name under his cuff, a girl who'd be small and soft and would control him with words and looks and Dave knew himself well enough by this point to know that the name on his wrist would belong to a boy - a man - someone who could match him in size and strength, who could make him do God knows what, hold him down, overpower him, and even though he was never, ever going to be in any relationship with any man, ever, he gasped for air at the thought, feeling as trapped as if he was even now bound by strong, unyielding hands.

He lay as still as he could, listening to the announcers' voices droning on over the game and trying to keep his breathing under control. Everything he'd feared for so long was coming together in physical form on his own body in the shape of red lines inching toward each other where they'd inevitably spell out the name of the thing he feared the most.

And then, after some period of time that could have been seconds or hours, time he spent flat on his back, deep breathing and telling himself that having a name didn't mean anything, not at all, no name, male or female, could change everything he knew about himself, three of those little welts finally lined up to form a perfect capital letter K.

He stared at it, stared and knew, as surely as he knew that the sky was blue and grass was green and that smacking into some hulking defensive lineman would hurt like hell but make him feel powerful in a way that was worth every bit of the pain, he knew.

Kurt Hummel was his soulmate.

For twelve long minutes - he was suddenly very specifically aware of the passing of time - he believed it.

His first reaction was panic. Because there was no way, not even his life could be so cruel that he'd end up spending it on his knees (never mind that he didn't plan to spend it with anyone - that thought went right out the window into the autumn afternoon) to the boy he'd spent the past year and change doing everything he could to humiliate and terrorize. A boy he wasn't even attracted to (no matter what his dick happened to be doing now), a boy who would have every reason in the world to want to take revenge and make Dave pay in every conceivable way (and why did his stupid dick keep doing that?!) for the many, many things he'd done to hurt him.

His fists clenched, his head spun, raucous cheers from the television filled the room but he couldn't make sense of any of them. All he could see was himself, kneeling, pleading, totally at the mercy of the one person he'd feared more than any other. Sure, Hummel wasn't huge and muscle-bound, he wasn't ever going to be able to wrestle Dave's body into any position it didn't want to be in, but no one knew better than Dave how strong Kurt really was. He'd never had the upper hand with him. Never. Even without submissive hormones (and were they starting to flow already - he was so fucking hard) Kurt had always come out on top, even bruised and on the ground. He always got up. Always went on. Everything Dave had tried and Kurt still stood strong, untouched. Untouchable. No one got to touch Kurt. No one. His hands balled into fists, clutching at his comforter. It didn't matter. It didn't matter who it was.

But it was so fucking obvious now. Of course he'd never had a chance. Of course he'd always failed when it came to Kurt. Of course his soulmate was the person who'd shown him that there was a power much stronger than physical force. Who else could he ever be expected to submit to? At who else's feet could he ever kneel? How could anyone else be worthy?

No. No. He grabbed the remote and cranked the TV's volume up even higher, trying to drown that particular voice out of his head. Worthy didn't matter. Strong didn't matter. He'd opted out. No soulmate. Especially not the one person who had every reason to want him at their mercy. Every reason to punish him over and over for the months of pain he'd inflicted. He had so much to atone for. He'd have to work so hard, prove himself again and again. Suffer without complaint while Kurt vented all his anger and pain (and God his cock was aching) on Dave's body. But what if he could do it? What if he could be perfect, never misstep, never give Kurt any new reason to distrust him?

After punishment came . . . forgiveness.

Six minutes in he started to cry.

That was how it worked, right? Punishment wiped away mistakes and disobedience. That was the whole point. He could suffer. He could suffer because Kurt needed him to and in the end Kurt would forgive him because that's what doms did and a weight he didn't even know floated off his chest and he was still crying but kind of laughing too because if Kurt, of all people, could stop hating him then it suddenly seemed possible that he could finally stop hating himself.

He stared at that letter, his K, and he could see it. Beyond the horror he knew Kurt would feel at first, beyond whatever pain Kurt might put him through as penance, to the day when Kurt would be able to look at him - they way he'd looked at Finn last year when it had been obvious to everyone that he'd been half in love with him. Except with them it would be real. Kurt would love him and forgive him and show him how to be strong like he was, how to stand up in the face of assholes who wanted to tear him down. Kurt would save him. God, it seemed so obvious. He should have realized ages ago that Kurt was the only one who could.

He'd had four whole minutes to bask in that fantasy before more of the marks under his skin coalesced into a perfect, tiny s.

There was no s in Kurt Hummel.

And the real world slammed back into Dave's chest with a weight that seemed twice as heavy as it had been before.

_Kyle Mason._ After another hour and a half the name was finished and Dave stared at his wrist, feeling once again like his own body had turned against him. Kyle Mason. God knew what Kyle would be like, big or small, loud and authoritarian or gentle and coaxing, it didn't seem to matter any more and Dave's earlier panic seemed laughable to him now. Kyle might be the future love of his life. Dave couldn't really bring himself to care.

Kurt was never going to forgive him.

* * *

><p>It was stupid to just stand there behind a rack of hats and watch Hummel browsing through a selection of boots, but this whole thing had been stupid, really. He had no idea why he'd even started following them in the first place. Who cared, really, what Kurt did with the soulmate that Dave usually tried very hard not to think about?<p>

But still he stood and watched as Kurt picked out a lace-up boot in a funny dark green color and handed it to the salesman. When he disappeared into the back Kurt seated himself on one of the plush chairs but Mr. Anderson stayed on his feet, glanced around the shoe department as if he was trying to make some kind of decision, then finally bent and whispered again in Kurt's ear. Dave could only see the back of Kurt's head, but he nodded after a second and Mr. Anderson smiled and slowly, gracefully, dropped to his knees at Kurt's feet.

Dave couldn't move. He couldn't believe they were doing this, here, in the middle of Macy's in Lima. Kurt's body was in the way, but he could see Mr. Anderson's face in a mirror attached at knee level to one of the display stands. He never took his eyes off of Kurt's face, even as he reached for one of his feet and began to unlace his black tennis shoe. He removed one shoe, then the other, and Dave held his breath, forgetting even to try to hide. He was captivated by the look on Mr. Anderson's face. He couldn't have looked away if he'd tried.

When both shoes were off Mr. Anderson just stayed there, staring up at Kurt, and maybe Kurt said something because at one point he smiled a little, almost shyly, and lowered his eyes to the floor, and Dave had to hold on to the hat rack to keep himself upright. When the salesclerk came back with two oversize boxes he didn't hesitate at all, just handed them both to Mr. Anderson, who smiled his thanks, opened them, and slipped the boots onto Kurt's feet, one then the other, pulling the laces carefully tight and tying them in perfect bows at the top.

It was beautiful.

Then Kurt stood up and turned a little, so Dave could see his profile, and offered a hand to Mr. Anderson, who took it and let himself be helped up from the floor. When he was on his feet Kurt touched him again, just a quick stroke of his cheek, and then turned to the mirror to check out the boots, as if nothing extraordinary had happened at all. As if what they'd done had been just a perfectly normal part of their perfectly normal lives.

Which, Dave finally understood, was exactly what it was.

* * *

><p>"I hate Sunday."<p>

Blaine's voice was muffled from where his face was pressed into Kurt's groin, and Kurt squirmed as the movement rubbed Blaine's afternoon stubble against his dick, which was still a little sensitive from the orgasm Blaine had just sucked out of it.

"Come here." Kurt tugged gently at Blaine's curls.

Blaine shook his head, making Kurt squirm again. "I'm trying to memorize this," he said, slipping his hands under Kurt's thighs to push them further apart. "It's going to be five whole days before I get to be here again."

He buried his nose even deeper into Kurt's balls and inhaled so heavily that Kurt could feel the suction of it against his skin.

"Oh my God!" Kurt tugged at Blaine's hair again, harder this time, forcing him to lift his head. "Are you smelling me?!"

Blaine's eyebrows came together a little and if Kurt wasn't so busy being horrified he'd have laughed at how obviously it was that Blaine was trying to decide which answer Kurt really wanted to hear. "Maybe?" he finally tried, smiling hopefully.

"Blaine!"

"I like it! The sense of smell is the most primitive sense we have, you know. Your smell -"

"I do not smell, let's get that straight right now." Kurt pulled Blaine's hair again, just to emphasize his point.

"Your scent then," Blaine said. "It makes me feel good. Right. Safe. And I'm not going to have it all week." He gave Kurt his very best sad puppy dog face, the one Kurt hadn't quite figured out how to resist, and Kurt reluctantly let him go. Blaine grinned and snuggled up to Kurt's dick again, inhaling long and deep.

"Oh God, stop!" Kurt tugged at Blaine's hair again and he looked up with a sigh, and more pleading eyes, but Kurt kept pulling. "I'm sorry. It's weird. Come up here and cuddle like a normal person."

Blaine stuck his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout - it really wasn't fair that even his attempts to be goofy were sexy - but crawled up the bed and settled obediently against Kurt's chest.

"We didn't have to go to the mall today, you know," Kurt said as he stroked across Blaine's shoulders and down his back. "We could have just stayed here naked all day."

"We can't hide away every weekend. We have to do things, like _normal_ people." Blaine wiggled his eyebrows at Kurt, who retaliated by poking him in the ribs. "Besides, I really wanted to get you this." He stretched across Kurt and picked up the new cuff from where it sat gleaming mahogany brown on the nightstand.

"It's beautiful," Kurt said.

"I don't expect you to wear it all the time. I know your dad got you the other one and you had to wait so long before you could wear it. I just wanted you to have one from me."

"Don't be silly," Kurt took the cuff from Blaine and ran his thumb over the stitching before placing it back on the table and then shifting around so that they were lying side by side, smiling into each other's eyes. "Of course I'm going to wear it. The last thing I want to be thinking about when you're naked on your knees putting it on or taking it off is my dad! We'll save my old one. And maybe someday we'll have someone we can pass it on to."

Blaine smiled at that and slipped his hand around Kurt's neck to pull him closer. His lips parted, offering a kiss but leaving it up to Kurt to decide whether to take it.

This, Kurt thought as he moved his mouth gently against Blaine's and teased him with little flicks of his tongue, must be his dominant version of the smelling thing. What got him through the week was remembering the feeling of rolling on top of Blaine, holding him down and losing himself in the taste of that perfect mouth, the feeling of Blaine's still-hard cock pressing into his groin and the gorgeous pleading sounds that escaped Blaine's throat without fail, no matter how hard he tried to hold them back. But he wasn't quite ready yet to give Blaine his last orgasm of the weekend, so when Blaine started to rut against him in earnest he backed off and rolled just far enough away that their bodies were no longer touching.

Blaine pouted again, but this time Kurt just laughed. "Maybe later. I'm still punishing you for that stunt you pulled with the shoes."

"You loved that."

"I loved it too much. I wanted to ravish you right there in the store. Which would have been a disaster. We're lucky we got away with what we did."

"The salesman was okay with it."

"The salesman wasn't the only person in the store. We have to be careful. You're not in New York anymore, Dorothy. This is Ohio. And you never know who might be watching you."

Something strange passed over Blaine's face then. It was gone as quickly as it came, but not quickly enough to escape Kurt's notice.

"What?"

Blaine shook his head. "It's nothing, really."

"Blaine."

He sighed. "There's just something I should probably tell you, but I don't want to freak you out."

Kurt pushed himself up on his elbow and stared down at Blaine, more than a little alarmed. "And you don't think telling me you're trying not to freak me out is going to freak me out?"

Blaine just stared at him, silent.

"Now, Blaine." Kurt commanded.

Blaine squirmed a little on the bed. "The thing is, someone was following us at the mall today."

Kurt's heart sped up and he felt a familiar tightening in his chest. "What does that mean?"

"Following us. Like, trailing around after us. Watching what we were doing."

"And it didn't occur to you to tell me this? Oh my God, what if they were - casing us? Planning to jump us in the parking lot and rob us or something?"

Blaine reached for Kurt's hand. "It wasn't like that," he confessed. "It wasn't a stranger."

"What are you talking about? Who was it?"

Blaine took a deep breath. "It was that kid, from Figgins' office. The one who outed us."

"Karofsky?!" Kurt practically shouted. He snatched his hand back from Blaine and jumped out of the bed, rummaging through their discarded clothes for his underwear and pants. "Crap, Blaine! How could you not tell me?" He jerked his briefs up; he needed to cover himself; he was too vulnerable like this. "Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening again. I thought it was over. I thought -"

"No, Kurt, calm down. I don't think it was like that. I didn't -"

Kurt paused halfway through wriggling into his tight jeans to glare at Blaine. "You don't think? You don't think? Were you there? Do you have any idea what he put me through? Were you even listening when I told you?"

"I was, I promise, I just -"

"You let him follow us -" Kurt couldn't even look at Blaine. He turned away and dragged his pants over his hips with one last forceful tug. "Oh God, was he watching us when you bought the cuff?"

Blaine was silent long enough that Kurt finally had to turn back to him. He looked completely miserable, shocked and miserable, sitting small and naked on the bed. But Kurt wasn't about to let him off the hook. "Blaine?"

"I think so," he said, so low that Kurt barely heard him.

"You think so?! Blaine -"

"Well I didn't actually see him until we were trying on shoes."

Kurt was breathing, he could feel his lungs expanding and contracting but it felt like he wasn't getting any oxygen at all. Karofsky following him around the mall, watching him with Blaine. And then it hit him. "The kneeling. Was that some kind of showing off? For him?"

Blaine flinched as if he'd been struck. "No! No, Kurt, that's when I saw him. When I was on the floor taking off your shoes. I could see his reflection in one of the mirrors. He was sort of hiding behind a rack of hats."

Kurt stared at Blaine, incredulous, unable to understand how he could be so calm about this. "Hiding. He was hiding and watching us. And that didn't set off any alarms for you at all?"

"And then when I recognized him I realized I'd seen him before," Blaine kept going, as if Kurt hadn't spoken. "In the food court. And I think one time when you stopped to check something out in one of the shop windows."

"We could have called security. We could have -" Why couldn't he breathe? His head was starting to spin. "I can't do this. I can't start this all over again, not now -"

"Please, Kurt, just sit down for a second. Breathe."

But Kurt was in full panic mode now, pacing from the bed to the window and back again. "I thought it was over. I actually thought it was over. How could I have been so stupid?"

"I don't think that's what it was about. I didn't get a sense that he was . . . threatening."

"And you know that because of your vast experience of Karofsky and what he's capable of."

"Kurt!" Blaine grabbed his hand on his next pass near the bed and forced him to stop. "Would you please just look at me?"

Kurt turned his head to meet Blaine's eyes, but kept his body twisted away toward the window.

"Okay, I know you hate it when I play the age card, but I am older than you. And more experienced. Bullies put me in the hospital, Kurt. I live with that threat the same as you. And for a lot longer. I'm telling you, he was just watching."

"Just?!"

"It was, I don't know, maybe it's because I'm a sub too, but it felt like he needed to. Like seeing us together was doing something to him. Something important."

Kurt turned all the way around then, turned and almost leapt toward the bed and whatever Blaine saw on his face made him drop Kurt's hand and shove himself back further across the mattress. "I don't care. I don't care, Blaine. He made my life hell. He hurt me. He did everything he could to tear me down and make me hate myself and I don't give a shit what's important to him! I don't want him anywhere near me. I don't want anything about me to matter to him, how could you not know that? How could you -"

But then it hit him, and he really needed to stop being surprised by it. "But this is what you do. Oh my God, you always do this. You choose other people over me, you obey them -"

"What? Kurt!" Blaine gaped at him and it would have been funny if it wasn't so frightening.

"You do, Mr. Schue and that asshole Kev and now Karofsky?!"

Blaine surged forward and grabbed both of Kurt's hands, pulled him closer until his knees hit the side of the mattress. "No, Kurt, stop, please for God's sake. Just listen to me, okay?" He was pleading, his eyes wide with alarm. "Don't do this. Please."

Kurt didn't acknowledge Blaine's begging, but he couldn't quite bring himself to pull away. Apparently Blaine took that for assent because he kept talking. "You're absolutely right about Kev. Kev was a mistake, we both know that, we were in a crazy place and there were so many things I didn't understand yet but I do now. And I'm yours and I am always going to obey you and put you first, I promised you that and I meant it."

"Then why do you keep -"

"Kurt, just because you're a dom doesn't mean you're always going to be right. And the fact that I'm your sub doesn't mean I suddenly stop thinking for myself. I still live in the world. I meet people and talk to them and make choices that sometimes you're not going to like. I didn't disobey you, I made a judgment call. The wrong one, obviously, because I didn't really think through how it might affect you and I'm so sorry for that. If you want to punish me I'll take it, I made a mistake, a big one, I deserve it. But I saw him standing there and I just - I saw _me_. Me back when I was alone and confused and longing for things that I didn't even really have a name for yet. And I wanted to help him.

"Well that's because he's never screamed faggot at you while he smacked your head into a locker," Kurt spat, but he didn't pull his hands away.

Blaine inched closer. "I didn't think it all the way through. I just, followed my instincts, which is something I tend to do, and I was wrong. But that doesn't mean that I'm choosing him - or anyone - over you. Nobody could ever - you are the most important thing in my life, Kurt." He loosened his grip just enough to slide his hands up Kurt's arms, grasping at his elbows and tugging him closer. "God, I can barely manage to get from first period to lunch without seeing you. And the thought of not having you here all week kills me. You are so strong, and I didn't consider how much what he did must still affect you. I fucked up. I'm so sorry. I never, ever want you to feel like anyone's more important than you."

Kurt believed him, he did. And it was entirely possible that not even Blaine could have anticipated the size of his blind stop when it came to Karofsky. But that didn't make it any easier. "All my life I've had to scream just to be heard, he said, still letting Blaine hold him there by the bed. "I've had to fight every day to get people to take me seriously. You _are_ older. And more experienced. So I expected you to understand that. I expected you to do better."

At that Blaine finally let go of Kurt's arms; his bottom lip trembled a little, and a new kind of understanding dawned in his eyes. "You're disappointed in me," he said.

Kurt was silent.

Blaine moved back then and folded himself down to kneel on the bed, his hands settling on top of his thighs, his eyes lowered to stare at the blanket. "I'm sorry," he said without looking up. And Kurt could finally hear in his voice that he understood exactly what he had to be sorry for.

He let him hang for just a moment, partly because Blaine deserved it, and partly because his inner injured dom really, really liked the picture he made, so contrite and submissive there on his knees. Finally, he said, just a little sharply, "Don't do that."

"Don't apologize?" Blaine asked, his eyes still trained on the comforter.

"Don't kneel like that."

Blaine looked up then, and Kurt could see that his eyes were damp, but he smiled a little and said, "This kind of seems like a totally appropriate time to be kneeling."

"Well it's unfairly hot and makes it very hard to stay mad at you." He expected Blaine to laugh at that, but instead a couple of tears spilled over and Kurt wondered if he'd ever get used to the fact that his words and his emotions could have this kind of impact on another person. He sat down on the bed and pulled Blaine into his arms, reclining against the headboard and not even minding how unyielding it was against his back or that Blaine was drying his tears on his bare chest.

After they'd been quiet for a while, after the tension in Blaine's body finally started to melt away, Kurt ran his fingers gently through Blaine's hair and said, " I really should punish you, you know."

Blaine tipped his head up and smiled and his eyes were clear and tear-free. "My ass is ready." He wiggled it a little, to make his point.

"Your ass would love it. And that's not what a punishment is supposed to be about." But since it was right there he grabbed a handful anyhow and squeezed.

But Blaine just kept staring at him. "Seriously, though," he said quietly. "Anything. You're good at this, Kurt. It comes so naturally to you that it's easy to forget that you have insecurities like anyone else. It's a compliment, really, that I don't go around thinking of ways to shore you up or reinforce your dominance. I trust you to be in control. You have no idea how incredible it feels to be able to do that."

"But sometimes I need you to shore me up. It's my job to take care of you but it's also your job to take care of me." Kurt kissed him then, hard and swift, just to show him that everything was okay.

"I promise," Blaine said. And Kurt believed him.

"Well then, I guess I can let you off with a warning. Just this once. Since you were so good with my friends yesterday."

Blaine grinned at that. "I had fun. But I am a little worried that Noah's going to start calling me your boy at school now."

"No. I don't really understand it, because I've always thought he had the emotional maturity of the number two pencil, but Puck gets it. And Finn always does better when he's following somebody's lead so I think he'll be okay too."

"Sam seemed to really like me. I think he's smarter than people give him credit for."

"You're only saying that because he likes you," Kurt teased as he lifted them up just enough to shove a pillow between his back and the headboard. "God," he said when they were settled again, "we survived a whole week."

"And they said it wouldn't last."

"I'm serious. Everybody knows and the world hasn't ended. I mean, I know it's not perfect, but nobody's stockpiling torches and pitchforks."

"That we know of."

"And in just a couple of months school'll be out and God, think about how much time we'll have. No work, no homework, no curfews. All those days and nights just for us."

Blaine wriggled against Kurt's side. "Don't say things like that. You're making me hard again."

Kurt ran a hand down his body, just to check. "Well then all's right with the world," he said, wrapping his fingers around Blaine's dick so he could feel it thickening against them.

Blaine just snuggled against Kurt's chest, his stubble tickling Kurt's nipple. "You're here. All's right with the whole fucking universe."


End file.
